


Heavyweight Heart

by fandomfluffandfuck



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (a bit it's not like a super huge super prominent part of the plot), (eventually) - Freeform, (its also there though), (not Steve and Bucky I promise), (steves like 6'2 and beefy), (think like the way pre-war bucky looked but with long hair), Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass Play, Awkward Conversations, Barebacking, Bed Humping, Begging, Belly Kink, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Body Image, Body Worship, Bonding, Break Up, Breeding Kink, Come Inflation, Comeplay, Confessions, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Disappointment, Eating, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gay Steve Rogers, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Erections, Jealousy, Knotting, Longing, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Moving On, Moving Out, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Bucky Barnes, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Break Up, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Pre-Serum Bucky Barnes, Pregnancy Kink, Riding, Rimming, Rutting, Scent Kink, Scenting, Sexual Fantasy, Shame, Size Kink, Stomach Distension, Then Non-Platonic Cuddling, Thick Bucky Barnes, Unsafe Sex, Weight Gain, Weight Gain Kink, Weight Issues, Wet Dream, baker steve, body image issues, caretaking kink, erotic crying, excessive giggling, jerking off, learning about each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 71,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfluffandfuck/pseuds/fandomfluffandfuck
Summary: Steve is the owner of a bakery, "Brooklyn Breads And Pastry", and one day Bucky walks in and turns his entire fucking life upside-down.This is that story. However, beware that as this fic progresses it goes from a meet-cute, meet-heartbreak (on Steve's behalf), to a fic that's emotionally gonna be kind of heavy. Bucky will go through some shit that could be triggering if you struggle with weight or body imagine issues although I will say Steve's 1000% into his new weight (which is why the tags revolving around weight gain and belly kink are being used) and is very supportive with it so it also is gonna be soft. Give it a try if that sounds like your thing.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky/Original Female Character, background Sam Wilson/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 107
Kudos: 218





	1. Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Again: trigger warning for weight gain and body imagine issues. 
> 
> Also! There's a bit more weight and belly kink in this than my normal A/B/O 'verse stuff but it's not completely that so if you're on the fence because you're not into it I'd hope that you try, if you like (you can always close the story later if you don't fancy it after all), it's more on the soft side of 'I love you so much I want there to be more of you' than the "harder" side of those kinks.

Steve isn’t having a bad day, per say, it’s just not a particularly good day. 

It’s a day that is just one of those that exists. It’s not exorbitantly excellent that’s it. That’s why it’s not a good day, it’s not a great day so it’s not good either because there’s nothing overtly positive making up for the gap between good and neutral. ... if any of those thoughts made any sense anyway? Steve shakes his head. It’s not bad, he reminds himself. It’s not the first or even second or third time telling himself that it isn’t bad, which, at this point in the afternoon is making him almost second guess himself because if it wasn’t a bad day truly- wouldn’t he not even be thinking that it might be? 

Maybe it’s just a weird day? 

Maybe he’s just off after having to get up extra early because of his next door neighbor who had been doing fucking something at too-early-o’clock. Maybe the fact that Clint’s not always the best company (especially today when he’s not in a particularly good mood) that’s adding on to his early morning not-all-that-grouchy grouchiness. Maybe he’s just off. Maybe it’s just a day where he’s not having the best time because the only people to come into the shop today seem to be some version of an unhappy person who plans to take that out on innocent employees… and as owner of the fucking shop he always has to deal with it. With a smile. Damn “can I speak to your manager” people, sure, sometimes it’s entirely warranted but. None of them have been today. Still… it’s not a bad day. It’s not. It doesn’t feel like a bad day, not re-

Steve chokes on his inhalation of breath. 

Twin questions of ‘why am I choking’ and “ohmygod, what is _that_ smell’ hit him like a punch to the gut, both at once, knocking him down? Metaphorically and actually as he finds himself doubling over, slapping his hands down just above his knees in order to not just topple over as he tries to get his breath back under control. It’s not good publicity to have the owner of a fucking bakery choking in the back, even if he’s not choking on food, just spit, it still looks bad though. He needs to fucking breath too. He needs to not be choking while on shift- well, he’d rather not choke at all but, he’ll take anything else. 

Steve manages to get his breathing under control after a moment that’s way too long for him not to be blushing bright red, thanks to the deadly combination of embarrassment and oxygen deprivation that he’s currently dealing with, and he straightens up. His ears are ringing. He crashes back through the couple of centimeters he’s got between his back and the wall. 

“Boss?” Clint pops his head around the corner that leads back to the back part of the shop where the ovens, ingredients, shelves, mixing bowls, and everything else they need to run the shop is. The stuff that’s not all that pretty, y’know? The stuff that isn’t exactly fitting to the muted autumn colors and deep woodgrain of the front room.

“Thought I told you not to call me boss unless-” Steve lowers his voice, sudden anxiety shuddering through him, “are the inspectors here already?” 

Clint chuckles and shakes his head, leaning more into the doorway so Steve can see his whole body and not just his floating head but his mind is back to chasing its tail. Except this time he’s not thinking about his bad but not bad day. This time he’s thinking about the routine inspection that’s apparently coming early because he’s not formal no matter how much he knows he should be because it’s not his favorite. Forcing the people he pays, who for the record are all betas or omegas, to call him something that implies he has more inherent worth over them even though… technically it is true. His name is the one on all the required paperwork. The only time he insists that they have to is when the inspectors come by because they tend to be older men, betas or alphas, who would turn up their nose at such a “liberal” alpha. Which must mean-

Clint’s hand thunks against his chest, well, retracing his thoughts with a less panic driven brain- he walked into Clint’s outstretched hand but still. He backs up. Stepping back and hoping for the one restaurant inspector that he knows is the nicest, Ms. Potts, while fighting the urge to peak around the corner like a scared second grader. They’ve never had any issues with inspections, not even close, but it never erases the fear. This shop is all he has. He loves this place. The location, the work itself, the people he’s found to work alongside him. 

“Hey,” Clint intentionally reaches out to touch him this time. The pat on his shoulder feels like being dunked in water, tepid water, not ice cold water. It’s not that jarring. However, the touch does get him climbing out of his head especially as Clint’s monotone voice smooths over his suddenly bubbling emotions, “not a surprise inspection. I just figured you’d like to be called ‘boss’ while you die. It sounded like you were on your way out,” his lips quirk up, ghosting into a smirk, “I thought alpha’s liked that kinda thing, no?” Steve smiles, his lips feeling too tight and awkward, he knows he’s playing up his cluelessness about omegas and alphas because he thinks it cheers him up and it’s partially true. His foster parents were both betas who’d had equally rough experiences trying to get into relationships with alphas or omegas and so they’d warded him off of them. Leaving him naïve to them as a result. 

“No, you forget why I don’t make you call me _that_ regularly?” He doesn’t mean to be so snippy but the look on the beta’s face makes him think he understands what’s up with his head. 

“Here,” Clint lowers his voice and tips his head out to the cozy, intentionally artfully aesthetic but sparsely decorated storefront where customers can purchase items, eat their purchased items, or just sit and chill for a bit. “I know what’ll cheer you up. Go.” He nods out again, twitching his head and eyeing Steve with a look that he means trouble. 

Steve inhales through his nose and prepares to ask him if it’s another customer that wants to speak to him directly because of some issue that’s not really an issue that either truthfully exists or that he can do anything about. The question is plucked out of his consciousness and single-handedly replaced with one thought. _Oh._

He was already moving but he stops mid-step around Clint to shoot him a look. They’re uncomfortably close. Basically chest to chest but Clint doesn’t seem to mind (vaguely Steve wonders if he’s only not bothered because he wasn’t raised around alphas and only heard stories that he could forget about how dangerous angry alphas can be), he just shoots Steve a wink and chuckles low in his throat. Tossing a mumble of affirmation that he’ll take over with making more pastry dough for him. The look in his eyes means _good luck._

Steve very, very carefully sets his foot down to not alarm the customer that’s waiting for him as to his strange behavior. 

Steve’s mood has lifted from just smelling the omega that’s waiting to be assisted and Steve scolds himself as he walks, keeping his head intentionally lowered just enough to make the omega think that it’s the way his posture is and not because he’s berating himself for having such a primitive alpha response to their presence. He’s never reacted like that to anyone. He’s never choked on air because someone smelled so fucking- so, so sweet. So right too. _The customer,_ he reminds himself as strongly as he can, smells nice. _That’s all._ There’s no need to-

The customer is the most fucking gorgeous thing Steve has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. 

Steve actually has to fight against his body from stopping in place as the pure shock of _how?_ shoots through him and he has to force his throat to clear before his mouth can drop open. His jaw would’ve dropped hard enough to dislocate, he’s sure. 

The customer isn’t paying attention to him, he’s not even looking at him, wondering what’s taking so long, no he’s staring at the chalkboard that displays the parts of the menu that don’t fit in the upfront display cases. It’s giving Steve the perfect view of his profile. His skin is the prettiest shade of tanned honey that he’s ever seen and it’s so smooth and soft looking, he looks airbrushed but… in real life. His jaw is squared but soft, gentle because of the possible tiny bit of baby weight that’s still evident under the sharp, handsome curve of it. It’s maddeningly gorgeous. He’s clean shaven and his hair is a dark brown that’s never looked as good on anyone as it does on him and it looks so soft that his fingers twitch at his sides, making him realize he’s still got hands and forearms that are covered in bits dough and flour from kneading it just seconds ago. His hair looks so, so soft. It’s a little wavy, just tussled effortlessly, and it brushes his collarbones, or the portion of it that’s not tucked up into a little bun sitting easily at the back of his head does. Even his nose is attractive. Straight and perfectly proportioned to his face, not too big or too small or too uneven. His lips are the prettiest thing ever. Pouty, pink, and clearly soft even with the small amount of distance stretching between them. His cheeks are sharp and high and impulsively Steve wonders how easy it might be to make him blush, he wants to see those pretty cheeks brushed softly with pink? Steve is only beginning to assess his eyes when he turns-

Dear god. 

Surely he’s some kind of model, right? He has to be, Steve rationalizes. 

There is no way someone can look like _that_ and not be a model, no way in hell. The front of his face is even more attractive than the side. His eyes catch all of the natural light pouring into this part of the bakery, making them look bigger and wider than they surely are. He looks so young, wide eyes, plush lips, soft hair, the sweet dimple in his chin- he’s got everything. There’s no fucking way he’s real. Steve would be one hundred percent more accepting of the possibility that some of their flour had rotted and developed ergot before he believed that this man standing before him is real. Their rye flour had been used in the batch of test bread that Clint and himself tasted this morning… Rye ergot has been known to be the most potent ergot and ergot can cause hallucinations… that’s got to be the only explanation, they have to both be hallucinating the world’s most gorgeous omega- an angel really. 

“Hi,” the omega greets him cheerily, smiling at him and forcing Steve’s heart to do a weird, kind of painful thing in his chest. Maybe the ergot has kicked fully in. Ergot causes the heart to speed up or slow way down, right? Wasn’t that mentioned as a symptom in that entry level culinary science class he took in college? Steve internally fucking growls with the shy, pretty twitch of the omega’s lips, curling up at one corner like he’s been trained to be polite by his ma but he’s a little to lazy to offer him, a complete stranger Steve reminds himself, a full smile. Maybe he knows Steve wouldn’t survive a full smile from him. His eyes sparkle, they’re a greyish-blue, a surely unreal color, there’s no way anything that pretty can exist. They look like some kind of rare gem. 

“Hi,” Steve is helpless, his brain is malfunctioning and the only thing he can bare to push past his lips is just a parroted version of the omega’s greeting. Regardless, he smiles and speaks back to the hallucination. The customer. The person he’s not supposed to be fantasizing about on sight. He’s supposed to be a profession. 

Silence. 

_Right,_ hallucination, model, angel or anything else, he’s still a customer, he’s supposed to be assisting him. Help him. Steve feels like he needs help too; possibly CPR too. 

“What can I do for you?” Steve remembers the half made pastry on his arms and hands as he starts in on his well practiced speech, thankful for his anxiety drive practice in his mirror, “I promise I’ll, uhh, take care of this,” he holds up his hands, “first but, uhh, you can get talking anyway? What would you like?” He smiles and tries to keep his tone even and light, normally, had the customer not been an angel, he knows he would be joking, making fun of himself, so he shoots for that. He’s not sure he makes it. 

The man is too polite to let it show if he fails or not. Great. This omega probably has alphas and betas and omegas falling over themselves, just like he is now, all the fucking time. He’s probably making him uncomfortable- being so obvious about the saliva pooling in his mouth, the rumble of a mating call sitting dangerously high in his throat, and the twitching of his fingers that’s power by the screaming instincts in his head that want to stroke, caress, protect, and possess this angel of an omega. 

“What’s,” the man opens his mouth and closes it and Steve fights tooth and nail to not say something or make a sound that’s embarrassing, “wh-what’s good here? I’ve never been here and I want to do something nice for my girlfriend…” 

The omega keeps talking but Steve doesn’t hear any of it. 

Oh. 

The word echoes in his head so loud that his entire brain feels like it has to stretch to rewire and reprogram itself, unconsciously he’s already formed his world around this breathtaking omega who smells like nothing that Steve can do rightful justice and has eyes that make his chest ache and his heart swell. It’s just a fantasy. It still makes his suddenly built imaginative world crumble painfully. So there’s a reason Rome wasn’t build in a day, huh?

Steve fights to keep his crumbling internal. His disappointment (not that that’s what this is because he’s not so sure there’s a fucking word for what’s happening inside his body, for what he’s feeling, but anyway, whatever it is) is so thick and potent that he feels it literally fill up his suddenly hollow chest. Cold and hard and yet he’s barely able to repress the shivers that want to puppet him desperately. God. He’s never… never had such strong feelings. Not for a person or for himself. Nothing’s ever felt like this. He didn’t know it was a possibility and he’s glad that up until this fucking awful moment he didn’t know. He’s not sure he would have ever left his childhood bedroom if he knew something could wreck him so easily and significantly. 

The sweet background noise of the omega’s voice quits and the ache in Steve’s chest stretches to fit another feeling. Guilt. 

“Sorry,” he clears his throat, ignoring the sandpaper and razorblades now coating it, “I spiraled when you asked what’s good here, could you repeat that for me?” 

Bucky nods and laughs and, _oh, fuck him._ Jesus. What the _hell?_ His voice is relaxing and smooth and just nice to hear in a way that is like a balm on a wound but his laugh- his laugh could fucking cure cancer. Isn’t that a thing people say? Do normal people say that? If they do or not it’s true with this vision in front of him, his laugh is light and airy and the beginning of it is a little squeaky like even he himself was surprised by his own amusement. Fuck. Steve wants nothing more than to hear him giggle, does he giggle? Steve wants to make him giggle, so what if he doesn’t normally. Wait. Fuck, he’s supposed to be _listening-_

“...ike I said earlier, I’ve never been in here,” the omega looks down, scratching the base of his neck and he continues to speak while staring at the floor. Steve’s never seen anything cuter, “which is mildly embarrassing considering I live like three blocks away,” _three blocks away,_ how has Steve never noticed this gorgeous creature before?! Steve reminds himself to laugh a little, shrugging right as he remembers that he is looking down and can’t see him, he follows fully through with the motion anyway. He looks up in time to catch the end of it. Relief crosses his unearthly features. Steve repeats the mantra “my girlfriend”, “my girlfriend”, “my girlfriend” in his head over and over again until he begins to talk again. He’s not being fair to this guy, putting his feelings so heavily on him. Even if he can’t help it- clearly he’s in good standing with this woman, then, yes? If he’s buying her food? Even if they’re not in good standing… Steve will not be _that_ alpha. That guy. He refuses. 

“Either way,” Steve begins, shakier than he would like, “you’re here now. That’s good enough for me.” Way good enough, he adds silently. The omega pops another sweetly shy smile and Steve smothers his brain in a jam that’s made purely of the sound of this omega’s voice forming the words “my girlfriend”. He’s taken. Steve will not be a home-wrecker. Nope. He’s not even having this silent conversation with himself now, he’s not even thinking about this omega like this. No. 

The omega apparently doesn’t know where to go after that because he just kind of stares into space for a moment. 

“What’s she like?” Steve grits out, intentionally hiding every bit of stinging rejection under the most polite, even tone that he can possibly influence his vocal cords to make. The poor guy looks stricken like he wasn’t expecting to have to know what she prefers, Steve almost wants to chuckle at the panicked look on his face, he resolutely shoves away the budding hope that maybe they’ve not been together long enough to even really be official. 

Steve distances himself from that cruelly hopeful thought by stepping away from the display case slash register and offers, “I’ll give you a second to think. I’m going to wash off this crusted on, well, crust and then I’ll be right back out, okay?” The omega nods and a lock of dark, soft, thick hair falls over the left side of his face, kissing his forehead and laying heartbreakingly gentle over his smooth skin. Steve does a fantastic job at _not_ thinking about how much he wants to tuck all the stray strands of his hair back behind his ear for him from now on. He totally just turns-tail and makes it to the sink. His head _definitely_ empty the entire time. 

Returning to the guy feels just as heart-pounding as his first seeing him had which isn’t doing good things for Steve’s guilty conscience. He feels dirty despite his freshly washed hands and face, he feels like he’s wrecking this guy’s relationship by just imagining asking him out. He also feels dirty because he feels like he’s objectifying him. Yeah, undoubtedly, unarguably, he’s handsome as hell, pretty too, but he’s not just an omega, a piece of meat, to be drooled over. 

Maybe washing his face right along with his hands and forearms wasn’t such a bright idea. He doesn’t need fresh eyes for staring at someone who’s so pretty it’s blinding. Like staring at the sun. 

The omega is stooped over a particular part of the display case, eyeing where he knows he set out the chocolate and strawberry tarts this morning, among other things, but he knows those are there and he knows that stereotypically women love chocolate. He’s assuming and back to feeling strange about himself. He feels kind of asshole-ish yet again and now he feels like he’s making his own weird day worse. Either way they were freshly made before most people would have even dreamed of coming into work. 

He tells the customer this and also throws out, “those look like something that’s your speed?” Steve ignores his mouth’s decision to remove his girlfriend from the question despite his own mind’s firm scolding against doing any such thing. 

The omega nods and sucks in a breath, humming a little under his breath in an achingly sweet way that has Steve stroking his palms down his thighs to keep his hands to himself. Normally such a common behavior (especially in omegas) wouldn’t have any effect on him. Steve sighs and tries as hard as he can to just fucking listen to this person like they’re any other person because in his own world he’s already not like anyone else. He doesn’t even know his name yet. 

“I think… I think so?” 

It sounds more like a question than any type of confirmation and Steve surprises himself by spilling a joke that actually sounds like a joke and doesn’t come out shaky and nervous, “hmm, what usually is then, ‘cause these baby’s go about twenty miles an hour.”

The omega _can_ giggle. 

Steve feels his fucking entire chest warm up like he’s been submerged into a bath, or maybe like he’s walked into a sauna. The omega tucks back the stray strand of hair as he bursts into a fresh wave of giggles, hiding his face with his hand and looking down. Despite the clear self-conscious move that makes Steve want to do nothing short of worship him until he’s nothing but in love with all of himself the warmth grows. Crackling under his skin but over his heart like a campfire. Homey and comforting.

“Twenty seems good.” He grins brilliantly at Steve. His heart melts. “I’m just second guessing myself today, she loves chocolate and sour things and this says, uhh, chocolate tart?” He looks to the floor quickly in what must be embarrassment, “are these, like, actually tart or is it just the name?” 

“Depends on who you ask,” Steve again shocks himself as his lips work like normal, he supposes it’s the familiar topic, “I think they’re tart but I also can’t handle more than two lemon heads with being good on my sour candy for like a week.” Steve reminds himself he doesn’t need to ask why he’s second guessing himself, but gut his buzzes with the urge to anyway, he hopes to all the gods that do and don’t exist that this beautiful omega isn’t second guessing himself because of a poor partner. 

And there he goes with the need to leave _her_ out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah, yeah, though those are kind of sour,” he resolutely doesn’t think of how weird his personal answer was, just seconds ago, as he fights to come up with a real answer, “not as sour as sour pastries can be though. They’re also not as chocolate-y as chocolate pastries have the potential to be, y’know? They aren’t as rich” Steve wants to punch himself. He’s so fucking glad for once that Clint turns off his hearing aids when he works in the back. He doesn’t need to give Clint any additional reason to make fun of him. 

The omega laughs. 

It takes away every self pitying thought roaming freely in his head. Huh. Just like that, Rogers? God. He desperately needs help- he’s actually going to look at his calendar and see if he’s got time to slide in an appointment with his old shrink after this. 

Not your omega, he screams internally back to his instincts as they writhe with the joy of making _the customer_ laugh. Not even close. Unfortunately. 

“I’ll hook you up with some that are actually sour and some that are actually chocolate-y if you like though, just in case she-” Steve mentally fist pumps. Small victories. “She’s not into the tart?” 

The sweet, quiet omega smiles brilliantly at him and Steve feels like he’s been exposed to radiation with how bright it is and how immediately he feels like stepping back to put space between himself and that deadly pretty smile. He’s entirely drop-dead-gorgeous, every single part of him. He doesn’t get the chance to reel back though, the omega’s smile is turning down before he can react. He coughs, “yeah, that might be a good idea.” A tight smile replaces the genuine one. Steve’s heart throbs. He should only get to wear that gorgeous, big, sun-shiney smile, nothing else can replace it and just this little interaction has him fighting the instinct that this omega is probably the sweetest, nicest omega or person in existence. He deserves to be amused into wearing that smile constantly. “She’s been, uhh, stressed lately.” 

Oh. 

The single syllable echoes in his head like a gun-shot through an otherwise silent forest. 

Steve gives the omega what he hopes is a professionally empathic smile that still brings him some kind of comfort, Wanda, one of his other employees, has had trouble with “stressed” alphas as long as he’s been employing her. She’s smart as a whip but she isn’t always able to see through her emotions- emotions that Steve is pretty sure if bottled and harnessed could cause frighteningly similar side effects as nukes. He’s pretty sure. She’s not a bad kid- not even close, she just can’t get a handle at seeing how people really are when she feels so much good for them. He guiltily wonders slash half assumes that the very sweet looking guy in front of him is possibly the same way. He desperately hopes not but… well, his alpha instincts are probably just going overboard, right? 

“Okay,” Steve shakes himself out of his stupor and smiles genuinely at the man across from him, worse case scenario, that that is the scenario this omega is in, he can help with this. He can give him something that might make things less… tense (god, please, let things really be nothing less than tense between this majestic omega and his girlfriend). “So if she likes tart than you’ll wanna look at these-”

“Dude.” Steve jumps about six feet in the air as Clint’s voice rings out loudly into the front room of the bakery. Clint chuckles evilly as his fingers come up to toy with the little computers constantly nestled against the backs of his ears, Steve knows when he turns them on because he immediately starts speaking quieter once his now more finely pitched laughing cuts off. “You look like, like somebody just said you’re baking is bad and had a valid point.” 

Steve chokes on a laugh. He wishes, that would be easier. 

Bucky- that’s what the sweet, caring, super fucking charming little omega’s name is. 

He gets it eventually.

Bucky had already known his name so that wasn’t an issue, he wore a nametag so Bucky had had his name since the first day but people who aren’t in work uniforms usually don’t wear a nametag so he hadn’t gotten his. Even though he nearly asked every time he came in. 

Every day that he didn’t have it, Steve was still thinking of him anyway, strangely enough he didn’t even try to think of what Bucky’s name might've been- it didn’t even cross his mind to try and guess. He just spent his time fantasizing about either embarrassingly PG things or mortifying dirty things that make him feel insanely guilty instead. He didn’t even think about what his name might have been once. Not once. Crazy. He thought of things like what makes him giggle the hardest, or what made his pretty, sharp cheeks flush the hardest- if his cheeks even would turn pink at all. Just anything that came into his mind was redirected to him. Wanda mentioned that she’d run out of her favorite perfume earlier in the week (she was apologizing for smelling bad when she really didn’t) and instantly Steve was thinking of him. Did he wear perfume - it would be generally socially acceptable for a male omega to do something as “feminine” as that - or did he wear cologne? Maybe he didn’t wear either. Maybe he just naturally smelled that mouth watering? The mouth watering smell that haunted Steve’s dreams whether the dream was a wet dream or a regular dream. 

Either way, the omega’s name was Bucky. 

Bucky has become a regular around the shop and whether it’s Bucky’s or Clint’s or Wanda’s doing Steve doesn’t know but every time he comes in he ends up getting called to the front to speak with him. He doesn’t mind, he could stare at him for lifetimes, he’s sure. After a few weeks (just… _a few_ because Steve certainly doesn’t know the exact amount of weeks he’s been showing up because that would be pathetic) of popping into the bakery basically daily it happens that he wants three of the chocolate and strawberry tarts when they’re sold out but Steve was literally making more of them at the time (and not at all daydreaming of him at the same time, no sir). So Steve had told him if he came back within the hour he could pick them up and he’d asked if he wanted them to be set aside as well. For, uhh, safe keeping. Bucky has said yes and had cracked a joke about the bakery suddenly being like Starbucks for him with how often he was there and now with this, playfully mocking him a little as he asked if he needed to leave a name with his order. Steve had impulsively returned his playfulness and told him that it was the only way to be sure. So, Bucky, Bucky is the omega he’s been daydreaming about. 

The omega who’s in a _relationship_. 

When he’d returned exactly forty-five minutes later Wanda had been the one to greet him and she had gleefully and freely questioned him about his name when he gave it in order to pick up the tarts. Bucky hadn’t minded- Steve wasn’t sure if it was just because he wasn’t in the interaction or if it was because she was a woman or if it’s because she’s also an omega but their conversation had gone flawlessly. Steve had to give himself a mental time out for the surge of jealousy he felt. He wanted to be so candid and easy with Bucky. Really he wanted more than that but the yearning to be so carefree when speaking with him was the only acknowledged want. It hurt a little too much to think about anything else. 

Although. Their interaction had given him the information that Bucky was in fact not his given name but that James was, both equally as fitting somehow, Bucky was a play off of his middle name that his older sister (who wasn’t his twin but that people often mistook her for) had given him when they were kids. Wanda had laughed in that bell-like, pretty way of hers and finally handed him over the tarts asking if his hair was the reason that happened. Bucky’s laugh was even prettier. Steve felt his cheeks heat and his knot throb, god, he’s a fucking mess. 

He apparently hadn’t thought of that and had wondered aloud to her if he should just chop it to spite his sister then. For shits and giggles, y’know? Wanda had gasped and Steve found himself doing the same, thankfully though he was too far away for them to notice his reaction. He has no questions in his head that Bucky could rock whatever style he wanted - he’s too stunning to not - but he at least wanted the creepy opportunity to run his hands through that hair before he cut it off. Seriously, his hair looks so soft. Like, softer than anyone else’s hair that he can recall. 

The next development wasn’t the knowledge of Bucky’s last name or something equally as unimportant but very important to Steve but the invitation from Bucky to get coffee. Bucky meant as friends, he was just suggesting it because it really would be the natural next step if he was normal. Normal and not having his instincts go into overdrive constantly over the omega. Bucky wanted to hang out outside of the bakery where he’d taken to buying something from them before sitting down at the table closest to the back room so he could talk with him and possibly type on his laptop or look at his phone or just plain sit there and chat with him. Steve could tell that from a mile away that he meant nothing of it other than as friends- mention of his girlfriend or not in that given moment. 

And like the fool he is, he had said yes immediately. 

The smile he got in return to his acceptance was breath-taking, easy and arresting in its beauty, and it made up for any of the guilty or self pity beginning to win over his internal monologue. He’d no doubt just made his own life harder but all of his instincts couldn’t care at fucking all about himself, not when he had pleased such a dashing omega. It didn’t even make sense. All of his reactions are things he’d heard about in school with how alphas fall for omegas but generally it was finished by the omega reciprocating (usually because they were taught subliminally that omegas don’t have a choice, not really, but still- Steve had never heard of something like this). Especially considering that Bucky isn’t even his type. Not in that he’s a man, no, Steve’s well aware that he’s gay- he’s just… he’s not “healthy” (as Sam puts it) in the way that usually gets Steve going. Sam teases him about it all the time, the fact that his type tends to be omegas who are well, simply put, much heavier than himself because of their weight, he jokes that subconsciously Steve became a baker because he loves a softer body type so much. Steve doesn’t mind. Sam’s a good guy and it’s kind of true… maybe. He knows a shrink would one thousand percent tell him that’s true. It's not like he's actively a chubby chaser, he just- he's, uhhm, he likes it more. It's a preference. 

Either way, Bucky’s not that. He’s lean and Steve could guess that under those hoodies and slim fit jeans that he would be able to wrap his hands easily around his biceps and possibly get a good portion of his thighs encircled. Usually Steve goes crazy for thighs and biceps that he can’t get his hands around. There’s just something that brings out the most uncivilized needs and instincts out of him with bigger omegas. There’s something in the way they look that makes him, for a lack of a better term, feral. Bucky isn’t that, but, judging by the amount of guilty jerk off and fantasizing sessions he’s had… he’s gone on him anyway. 

So, yeah, going out for coffee with him as a friend could only end in more heartache and pain for him. But he’s doing it. He’s doing it because he so badly wants to please this omega that’s waltzed in and turned everything he knows about himself, both in his morals and what he likes, upside down. 

He can’t have Bucky as his omega. 

But he could have Bucky as his friend. He has this bone-deep feeling that he was and very much is powerless against but at every turn in their budding knowledge of each other’s existence it kept whispering to him, telling him that it may hurt to be friend zoned but it will hurt worse to not have him at all. And he knew that voice was right. 

So they went for coffee. 


	2. Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve can't keep himself away from Bucky, mentally or physically.

Saying that himself and Bucky had gotten off on the right foot wasn’t a good enough metaphor to explain how well they clicked, at least it wasn’t accurate when you look at how their reactions go from the view of outsiders. Inside Steve’s head it’s different. The road that exists inside his head has been much, much rocker than it was in reality. Steve is hopeful and certain that it’s not been the same twisting road to Bucky but nothing has indicated that. 

Bucky, who is so much more than a pretty face. And that had been clear from the beginning but still, everytime he thinks about it it shocks him a fair amount- some people are too fucking good to be true. 

Talking with him as a friend rather than as a customer was different. Steve hadn’t expected it to be the same but as with learning more about his personality, it still was eye opening for him. He’s learned so much about him. He’s learned that Bucky has fought tooth and nail for his career in aerospace engineering because most people apparently don’t think it's a fitting job for an omega. Steve wishes he could say he was surprised by that knowledge and Steve had told him such- Bucky took kindly to Steve’s scoffing at their idiocy and his impromptu rant about how omegas are treated in the workplace even though they’ve been able to work since the second world war. He’s also learned that Bucky’s loved space since he was a child and planned to be an astronaut but then his love of building and being creative overtook the the need to be launched into empty space (Steve barely holds himself back from blurting out his thankfulness for that change of heart because it means Bucky’s able to be here with him). 

He learns detail after detail about the omega in their weeks of friendship that seamlessly blend into months but, shamefully, no matter what he learns about the incredible man the one glaring fact in his mind was that Bucky’s girlfriend is an alpha. Every bit of information that he learns about her sticks out in his mind like a flag- a red flag because, seriously, how fucking shitty and dumb can he be? He’s just being the exact type of alpha that he _knows_ Bucky hates more than anything. Bucky is so incredible and yet… _that’s the first thing he thinks of?_ He immediately goes straight to his baser instincts of a self pitying alpha, reciting in his mind about how not only is Bucky taken but that he’s taken by a girlfriend but his girlfriend is an alpha. Direct competition to his hindbrain. Come on. Bucky is so much more than some woman’s omega yet… it just hurts so much that he can’t help but think of it. He had sort of built it up in his head that Bucky was in a relationship with someone who wasn’t such _direct competition_ , if that makes sense? Before he knew that little fact he could fool himself into thinking that Bucky just wasn’t into alphas. That he never had even a sliver of a chance. 

Now all he doesn’t seem to know about Bucky is if he’s also into men.

Statistically it would be fairly likely, male omegas tend to biologically be wired to be either gay or some version of bisexual because in order to breed as well as bond as effectively as possible they need an alpha. Alpha females aren’t as rare as male omegas but it’s close. Statistically Bucky should be sexually fluid in some way but… Steve doesn’t know. He hasn’t mentioned ex-boyfriends or hook up with men that happened before he met his current alpha, he hasn’t even mentioned a passing crush on some super hot alpha celebrity or anything. Which. Which makes Steve feel even worse about himself because clearly that’s just one huge, fantastically clear sign that he’s entirely loyal to his alpha. He hasn’t got eyes for anyone else. He’s wrapped around her finger- undoubtably. 

However.

(Steve growls at himself whenever he thinks of this particular _however_ because he still is _not going to be that guy, dammit._ ) 

They haven’t bonded. It’s something that Steve, despite his existing knowledge of his girlfriend, had poured over the day after he’d first walked into his life and made his emotions into a field full of landmines composed of every shitty alpha instinct that was screaming at him to just lock that mind-melting omega down. He hadn’t been able to see his neck that day, it’s been cold out and so he was covered up enough that he couldn’t see that precious patch of skin. He had no idea if he was marked or not. Selfishly he hoped there wasn’t anything under that cloth. Bucky has always had him bending his own rules and morals unfortunately. He’s too weak for the brunette. 

And according to Bucky, and he’s not found even a sliver of a hint of a reason to doubt his word, they haven’t even spoken about it despite the fact that they’ve been dating for nearly a year. Every serious relationship Steve has entered (so, basically every one he’s had since leaving high school) that’s been one of the first serious questions that’s come up. It’s responsible to ask, it’s like asking if someone wants kids or not, like asking or watching to see how the other person treats their mother. No one wants to discover a year into a marriage that the other person never had any intention of bonding with you. 

But to each his own. 

And Steve is currently very, very much on his own. He’s entirely on his own. 

Physically he’s alone, at least in the current moment, like always over the past four and a half (basically five) months he’s been something other than Bucky’s often visited bakery shop owner that curbs his (and his girlfriend’s) cravings- he’s thinking of Bucky. So technically he’s not mentally alone even though he should be; he’s got no right to use Bucky as a plaything for his fantasies. But here he is, thinking of him anyways. 

He thinks of Bucky when he’s rolling out dough in the shop. He thinks about Bucky when he mixes ingredients in the shop. He thinks about him when he does both of those things at his house either just for fun or to try out a new experimental recipe. He thinks about Bucky when he walks around Brooklyn. He thinks about Bucky in the shower and while he shaves after his shower. He thinks about Bucky when he gets dressed in the morning and when he gets undressed when he’s preparing to go to bed. He thinks about Bucky when he’s _in bed_ and fighting everything inside him that tells him to just shove his hand into his pants and cum all over himself until he’s got the gorgeous omega out of his system even though he knows that isn’t possible. 

Bucky is inside his mind for good. Bucky has imprinted on him further than skin deep. And a hell of a lot further than a few weeks worth of jerk off sessions fantasies. 

Although currently he’s not fighting it. 

Currently he’s not alone mentally, mentally he’s caught up in Bucky and he can’t fight it now when his inhibitions are dangerously low at best. He’s not fighting all the sexual or the domestic, innocent fantasies that flow through his stupid brain. He can’t. His head is too full of them- although admittedly today he’s not thinking of all those innocent daydreams that are piling high in his brain, choking out every other thought. He’s even weaker for the other man than usual with the ferocity of heat and need coursing through his veins, they’re pooling in his cock and balls right along with the sweat sliding over his completely bare skin. He’s nearly feverish as a result of all the thoughts that aren’t safe for work and of Bucky within his head and from this next peaking wake of his rut that hasn’t seemed to stop yet, his body temperature is so high that all he can think of is how nice Bucky’s hands would feel on him now. How soft and cool they would be running over his sweaty and naked skin. 

Omegas, like alphas when their omegas are in season, have the effect of a chilling touch that his skin craves more than anything else. All he wants is for Bucky to fucking touch him. His hindbrain tells him to just fucking call Bucky, because he has his number now (he’s been trusted that much by the sweet omega), to spill his guts to the man and beg for him to come over and help him like a pathetic pup going through their first rut. 

But Steve cannot do that. He can’t. He shouldn’t even be _dreaming_ of doing that.

Steve growls, low and focused to the back of his throat as his thoughts circle all the way back to Bucky’s neck. His _unmarked_ neck. To the alluring length of pale gold skin and the bare spot, located just at the base of his neck, to side, where his neck melts easily into his equally attractive shoulder. The knowledge that it’s bare, fully unmarked of an alpha's bite, makes another growl bubble up out of him as his mouth floods with saliva and his jaw clenches hard enough that he hears it creak over the rushing of blood through his ears. God. What he wouldn’t give to have met Bucky before he was in a relationship. His half formed knot throbs and he cranes his neck down, lifting it off of the mattress like it weighs ten more times than it actually does, his eyes lock onto the abused but unsatisfied bulge of skin just in time to watch it rapidly expand. It happens so fast that Steve’s head spins and he gasps in shock before groaning gutterally as hot, nearly painful bolts of sharp arousal cut through him. 

He knows that this rut is going to be a bitch if he’s nearly popping a knot at the fucking image of his omega’s- _no_ his logical brain barrates him. If there was anything close by that wasn’t pillows and sheets and soft things he would certainly pick it up and begin hitting himself with it. He starts over with his thoughts, clearing his head and pretending that he’s not using his own cum to slick the tight channel of his own fist, pretending that he’s not touching himself while thinking of Bucky, really. 

He woke up in an early rut in the middle of the night, well, really in the middle of the morning. He had been panting and shifting so much in his sleep that when he finally awoke to his aching body he fell off the side of bed. His muscles ached like they did when he had been a scrawny kid and gone a few rounds with the school’s biggest, baddest bully. Once he had fought his way through his shock, this rut was a full two weeks early, he laid on the floor for enough time for a small pool of sweat to pool under his prone body. His own nose burned with the rank scent of his rut, stronger than he could remember, and his thoughts had run with the wonder of if Bucky would like the scent of his rut? He could recall the smell of Bucky easily and he’d gone a̶ ̶l̶o̶t̶ a little crazy imagining it intensified, sweetened and thickened with his lush heat. 

He already smelled like candied fruit; sweetened with artificial sugar and balanced perfectly with the natural sugar of the metaphorical fruit. Steve hasn’t ever smelled anyone omega, beta or even alpha who smelled anything like that. And, yeah, sometimes - really once or twice - he smelled like his alpha when they’d met up but it’s still not enough of a deterrent in Steve’s twisted mind. Bucky is too weaved into his fucking soul somehow. 

Pulling himself up off of the floor had only been possible when his rut muddied head told him that there’s a chance if he got up that Bucky would materialize on his bed. 

He didn’t- of course. Bucky was many, many things but none of them were bad things and certainly none of them were as rotten as cheating on someone for no reason would be. Bucky isn’t like that. He wouldn’t help Steve through his rut just because he found him attractive (if he even had that going for him) when he was already in a serious relationship… he wouldn’t. 

No matter how badly and selfishly Steve wished for it. 

Now it’s been some amount of hours that Steve can’t quantify because he can’t take the time away from bouncing between fisting himself, which most of his time has been used for, then feeling shitty because of his unbalanced hormones (he definitely doesn’t feel shitty because he’s nearly sick with shame at thinking of someone else’s omega) and because he also doesn’t have a clock in his bedroom. Just his phone which he isn’t about to risk picking up because if he does he’s going to find Bucky and call or text him and he’s _not that guy._ Time is more than slippery when you’ve spent all of it in bed swimming in pleasure that’s good but that _isn’t enough_. 

This is the first rut he’s spent by himself in literal years. It’s at least been six or seven years.

There’s no one here with him because of Bucky, well, it’s because of himself. He needs to take that blame- he can’t put it on someone else, he can’t demand for them to take care of him when he’s thinking of someone else. Usually he would just call one of the agencies that toes the line between legal and illegal for helping alphas and omegas alike through their respective cycles and be done with it. Sometimes he ends up getting through his rut with a professional or he gets to spend it with his boyfriend. Unfortunately though… that’s not a possibility either. It might have been if he had continued to go on dates (he hadn’t been able to stop himself from deleting all of those apps after the third time he’d seen Bucky- he hadn’t been using them at all anyway) maybe he would have an omega that he knew somewhat here to help him. Maybe he wouldn’t be alone. 

Still, the thought of having someone who wasn’t Bucky while being consumed by thoughts of Bucky made him feel even more like throwing up. He couldn’t do that to someone. And he shouldn’t be doing this to Bucky, even if he’ll never know about it, but… he is. This is his punishment for it. 

He’s alone with his thoughts. While having the worst rut of his life. 

He’s never sweat so much. He’s never not had his waves of peak rut not feel like they go away. He’s never felt so fucking turned on. He’s never popped so many knots in… in however long it’s been. He’s sure of it. (He’s also sure of why it’s so bad but he’s not even going to say it out loud or even in his head- he’s just going to keep thinking of him and hope that that can dig him out of this mess.) 

Thoughts of Bucky that have his hips twitching up into his fist, which is slicked thickly with his own cum still because he can’t bare to bring his hand away from himself. Helplessness drowns him as he hopelessly tries to wring his knot of the fiery need lapping at every nerve within him. He squeezes his shaft and knot as hard as he can make his overtaxed muscles, groaning in the back of his throat as he does because it feels good but it also fucking hurts. Not having release with so much release is putting his head through a blender. It feels like a useless effort, trying to empty his balls again. Trying to get rid of all the animalistic urges surging inside of him without the help of a hot, tight, wet body around him.

Steve whimpers at the thought, only sparing a tenth of his brain power to that sound that indicates how desperate he really is. Normally he’d never whimper because it’s not what his biology wants him to do. The thought’s too good to not chase though. 

He fucking knows, he knows, Bucky would feel perfect around him. He’d be so tight. So wet. So hot. He’d probably already have gone into a sympathy heat, it’s definitely been a long enough time for that, his body urging him to be good (not that that fucking omega could get any better) and to help his alpha. To take care of his alpha. Steve wants to have that omega under him, on top of him even- he doesn’t fucking care. He just wants him. 

Steve cries out again and lets his mouth fall lax, rolling his shaking, shivering, overheated body so he’s face down on the mattress instead of face up and the second he makes it there he can’t control the growl ripping out of his throat nor can he control the humping of his hips into the bedding and mattress beneath him. He collapses, barely lifting his hips up in order to keep that fucking delightful, firm pressure over his cock. Flame tongues hot and thick lick their way up his legs before wrapping around his spine and pooling in his belly. His skin feels raw and hot. More pre-cum drools out of his cock. It does nothing to help ease the ever growing ache in his overfull balls, if anything it just makes him more aware of how overtaxed they are. His body is screaming for him to find the nearest omega that he can lay into. Someone who can take his cum and lock around him in the perfect vice. 

And again, Steve feels his thoughts slip from faceless omegas that fit his fancy to Bucky who is nothing short of perfection to him- especially when he’s not fucked up on rut fueled hormones that turn him into an animal. Steve bites back what would’ve been a howl as his hindbrain asks him, _how good would Bucky be at taking you cum? How good would he be at locking around your knot? Such a perfect little cunt. The perfect home for your knot. He could keep your knot warm between the waves of rut, you could stay locked together… keep the omega full and happy. God. He’d be so happy, slurring and asking for more, begging for you to keep his cunt spread open with all your cum._

Steve roars into the pillow he’s drooling into, reacting strongly and primally to the carnal desires clawing at him from just under his skin- usually Bucky isn’t his type, he likes thicker omegas usually, but his hindbrain decides that right this second when he’s at his most vulnerable that it would be suitable to remind him that because of his leaner, thinner frame Steve would be able to keep him on his knot and _watch_ as his cum fucked him full. He’d be able to watch him get bigger so easily. He’d be able to _see_ that little belly fill full of him, he’d be able to fuck him and hear him whimper and whine, incoherently slurring the fuller he was, getting lost in the pressure building in his body and Steve would be able to _know._ He would _see_ the change. He’d be able to catalog how much of him cum he’s pumping into his omega. He wouldn’t have to count now many knots he’s taken to know- he’d be able to just look. And he’d get to decide when he thinks his omega has had enough- he’d be able to palm that fucking tummy and tell him, _no, I know you can fit more of me in there._ And he knows the omega would listen and fold into his desires beautifully. Their separate desires would become one, melting into each other as heat and rut overtook everything. 

Overwhelming pleasure surges over Steve like a tsunami, dragging him under the surface of consciousness as he vividly imagines how good Bucky would look. He’s suddenly right back to sitting on the razor edge of cumming. He’s so close even though he had just finished not that long ago.

The darkest, most carnal and dangerous parts of his hindbrain continues to drive his imagination- goading him into some of the dirtiest scenarios because fucking everything about Bucky works for him. 

Everything works for him with Bucky when really if you look at his ex’s- nothing should. 

God. Just- _fuck._ Steve imagines the cooling balm of Bucky’s skin against his own, he’d be _so_ good. Steve would take him here, on his bed so he could be comfortable as Steve gives into all his urges and fucks into him as hard as he can. Maybe that pretty tan but still sort of pale skin would bruise. Being fucked into so hard and grabbed so hard but not carelessly, anything but carelessly. He’d fuck him good enough and hard enough that he wouldn’t ever be able to go without it, he’d fuck him as hard as his instincts demand him to. 

They’d have been at it long enough by this point that he knows the omega would be exhausted. But this is Bucky; Bucky is exhaustingly good and sweet and he’d tell, basically order, him to keep fucking him until he was satisfied. He would match Steve’s stubbornness because he’s anything but a usual omega. Bucky would be strung out and pliant and Steve would take it to his advantage. He would get Bucky to press against him, not holding himself up at all but just letting Steve take every ounce of his weight, his glorious back pressing into his chest as he fucks up into him. His knees would be planted on the bed but he’d be leaning entirely back onto Steve. Drool slips out of the corner of his mouth at the thought- he wonders if he would be able to get Bucky to drool or- or, _oh fuck,_ maybe he could get him to cry. He’d be so fucking pretty while he cried from all of the pleasure cutting through his most vulnerable areas. Crying on his cock, fucked out and still begging for it. Steve can practically feel the sensation of his chest heaving against the bracket of his arm, his nipples peaked against his arm that’s keeping him upright and close. He can nearly feel the breath of his omega’s over his cheek, restless and punched out, over his cheek- that’s how strong his fantasy is. Coming down over him like a tidal wave. Trapping him without oxygen and forcing him to submit to it. 

Steve cums over his fist, biting the sheets, ripping them a little too, to stop himself from screaming and alerting all his neighbors. 

All the while as he climbs the cliff and then crests over and begins to fall back to earth he’s thinking of Bucky’s belly. Bulged out with his cum. Round and taunt and heavy. He growls, giving into his primal, animal side without caution. Fuck. _Fuck,_ he’d look so good. So healthy. He’d be big and huge and already pregnant looking and he’d still beg for it. Especially if he was in heat. 

Steve feels even more cum get milked out of him as his fist tightens at the thought. He can’t stop his own hand, and, _god,_ would Bucky keep moving? Knowing he needed more to be satisfied or would he just keep going because _he_ needs more? Steve shivers, panting noisily into his sheets as the ache in his chest overtakes the ache in his cock. Still. That makes it seem like his cock isn’t still aching. It is though. 

His brain continues on and his hand is nothing but a slave to it. 

He imagines having that willing omega draped over him as miles and miles of nothing but melted sugar and syrup, panting and gasping and begging him, even though his belly is bloated with it already, for even more cum. Telling him he needs to keep fucking him even though his knot has barely just locked into him, keeping his hips moving as much as he can because he can’t help himself. He can’t stop himself from begging to be bred. To make sure he gets every fucking bit of cum that he can give. Begging him to make him bigger and heavier and rounder. Pleading him, _his alpha_ , to make him fat and heavy even though surely his cunt has to be stretching uncomfortably with the amount of cum already fucked into him. 

His eyes roll back into his head when his hand, with a mind of its own, drifts down to his balls from his expanded knot. His other hand takes over the job of massaging his knot. He expects to find his balls softer and not so burning hot, maybe even minutely smaller with the mass amount of cum painting his stomach and the bed, but he doesn’t expect the gritty moan that falls out of his clenched jaw. He doesn’t expect to find them the same. 

Steve whimpers again and for the first time since he was having his very first cycle he finds panic building in his chest. 

He swallows once and then twice, clenching his jaw back down to stop more stupid noises from coming out of him and to stop the trembling of his jaw. Icy fingers claw at his chest as his irrational brain preys on him- telling him that he’s somehow been cursed for being so helplessly in love with Bucky (and _what?_ ) and this is his payback. He’ll never be satisfied without him. And he’ll never have him now. 

Steve collapses in on himself even more. Pressure builds behind his eyes that tells him tears might be on the way- he always gets a little extra emotional after cumming and being in rut seems to just exacerbate that. His muscles shake and tremble without his doing. His hand goes limp and falls from around his pulsing cock first, his knot thrums like an open wound, then his hand uncurls from around his unchanged balls. He feels gutted and raw and not in the fun way. He knows he’s going to need to bring himself off again soon- he can feel the arousal already itching underneath his skin even as he revels in the relief that’s being fully spoiled by his boiling over anxiety. He’s going to fucking have to jerk himself off until he’s chaffed and raw it seems.

The tiny taste of relief that he’s gifted is incredibly short lived.

He jolts against the bed sheets as his mind, becoming less sluggish from his orgasm and the overflowing emotions that have accompanied it by the second, picks up the fantasy again, imagining that if he’d finished inside his omega then Bucky would be begging him to not pull out. Begging him to keep still and to keep his knot blown for as long as possible to keep him full. He’d be slipping into unconsciousness and still begging for more. Slurring that if Steve needs to keep using him he can. Offering himself fully over because not only is he the perfect omega but because he truly wants Steve to satisfy every urge he has and he truly does want to be the one helping him through it. He trusts him. 

Steve thrusts against the spoiled sheets, whimpering with overstimulation as he does, thinking about how lax and open Bucky would be if he really did pass out. Letting him keep fucking him because he trusts _his alpha_ so much. Steve’s mind grinds to a halt. _How aroused and needy and shocked would Bucky be when he woke up and found his belly even bigger?_ Steve moans ragged and loud and he _throbs,_ panting despite having the wind knocked out of him at the thought. 

Fuck. 

_Fuck._ Jesus- Steve would stay awake and fuck him once or twice before then debating whether or not he needed to use him again as he’d stur a little. Sensing his alpha’s indecision. Making little sleepy, sweet noises and stretching a little. Purring as he arches his back and finds his alpha to still be inside him, his knot still blown slightly from the last round that he wasn’t conscious for, before his gorgeous eyes would widen and his pretty hands would flutter down to his stomach. Investigating the immense weight and curve of it. Gasping and turning red, tightening his thighs together in arousal as he realizes just how much bigger he is. How much more cum Steve’s fucked into him. 

A stray sob cuts out of his throat when he imagines feeling Bucky squirm on his well-used, sensitive cock- feeling some of his cum that’s been packed into his little body drip back out, wetting his skin, and realizing that most of it isn’t even his own release. Most of it would be his slick. Showing Steve how worked up his filthy and devastatingly pretty omega is. How into it he is as well. Steve pictures it and thrusts his hips sloppily against the soiled sheets, panting and groaning, his throat even feels raw and vulnerable with the amount of noise he’s been making. The wet slide of his cock just adds to the fake scenario. Steve’s muscles lock when the head of his cock drags perfectly against the bed, his jaw falls open and a string of spit connects his top lip to his bottom. He feels his back arch in an almost painful way before his body comes crashing back down to the sheets. 

He yawns his way through another groan. 

Steve wakes up even more tired that he fell asleep, yawning even as his eyes first flick open, yet again he finds as he checks in with his body and that the screaming in his muscles feels nearly exactly like waking up the day after being thoroughly beaten up. He also feels the telltale burn of rut that must’ve been the culprit for his coming into consciousness. Although he can also tell by the tiredness dragging against his skin and muddying up his brain that he hasn’t slept for an entire night. He feels like he hasn’t even slept for five minutes. And he might not’ve, not with how pressing he recalls the aching of his cock being the last time he was aware. Now it’s not an ache. It’s a gnawing, throbbing awareness of his need to get off. Of his need to bite. To claim. To possess and take and control. 

It feels like there’s a furnace under his skin. Like there’s a fire burning inside his veins and clogging his arteries with heat and desire. He’s got no blood anywhere in his body besides pooling around his cock. All the rest of it has been replaced with nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. 

Steve growls his frustration into the bed, curling his fingers into a fist and quickly bringing it down onto the surface of the bed. Groaning when it makes the bed ripple under him, the vibrations cutting through his body like a hot knife through butter. 

Channeling his building frustration in himself and his fucking self-inflicted situation that’s turning out to be half way between hell and purgatory Steve uses the remaining strength within his muscles to shift. Getting his arms under himself and lifting himself into something of a lazy cobra possum lifting his chest up towards the ceiling as much as he can with the tightness assaulting his body. Shifting brings a more solid and persistent ache to his body. He again thinks back on his younger years- he’s not sure he ever felt this bad as well as defeated after a fight. Usually he felt this full body exhaustion but most of the time it wasn’t dripping with guilt. His pathetically weak squirming also brings the more pressing issue of realizing he fell asleep directly on top of the ocean of cum he spilled earlier. Which means his cock, which is fully hard and beginning to drip already, is effectively glued to the bed. 

His brows draw together and he finds himself wincing, paying less attention to his beaten body as he grabs for the sheet and breathes deep. Tearing the sheet away from his sensitive cock and praying that none of his cum got stuck to his pubic hair. 

No such luck- Steve sucks in a harsh breath, not even paying attention to the thick smell of himself crowding the air in his bedroom as he carefully removes himself from his bed, trying to cause the least amount of damage possible. 

Steve stumbles into the ensuite bathroom on legs that feel like they’re filled with water and belonging to a baby deer rather than himself. Shaking and swearing he makes it. The original plan had been the shower but… throwing a look back at his bed, minus the top sheet that’s now more fit to be burned than it is to be washed, he rules against that. His forearms burn, holding himself up against the sink. No shower it is. He’ll just settle for the baby wipes he’s got 

He’s still shaking as he hobbles back over to the bed but not as bad with the taste of chicken in his mouth and a croissant in his belly- feeling more like he’s been beaten up by himself the more he walks around. His cock has gone from just being hard to being visibly throbbing and purple at the tip. His balls aren’t any better off, everytime they brush the insides of his thighs the wrong way he has to stop and double over like he’s been punched. 

His crotch is free of his own crusted release, he’s eaten what he can stomach, and he’s tried to freshen up as much as he can. So. Back to bed. He’d like to believe that he’s crawling back into bed so he can catch up on the sleep that he’s missed but he knows himself better than that. He won’t be able to even close his eyes for more than the second that it takes to blink without imagining too many, uhh, _stimulating_ things to sleep. Plus with the way his cock currently looks he’s thinking it’s definitely not a good idea to sleep right now. 

He’s got one knee up on the bed when his brain reminds him of that gift his most recent boyfriend gifted him as a gag gift after they’d broken up. They have found that they fit together a lot, lot better as friends than as lovers. They’d only been together for a few months anyway and he’d showed up at his doorstep a week after they’d broken up brandishing said gift and a grin, proclaiming that he’d need _this_ now that they were done. He’d also cackled at whatever look painted his face, reminding him that he did _not_ fucking want to ever know if he actually used it or not. 

The gift was a sex toy. A fleshlight… well, it’s more accurate to call it a rut sleeve, but, tomato tomato, y’know. The only difference between a rut sleeve and a fleshlight that was meant to be used by someone who possessed a knot is that the rut sleeve is “heavier duty”. Even _thinking_ about why it’s got to be built like that has Steve flushing hotter as he drags himself from the comfort of basically already being in bed to standing in front of his closet. Squatting down to find the thing Steve feels his cock brush harder against his abs and he shivers, feeling pleasure shoot through his heated insides. He had only opened the thing because, well, it was way more conspicuous looking in the packaging then it was without the packaging. Steve would rather not find a box printed with sentences like, _feels just like an omegas cunt,_ or, _lonely? Well, you won’t be after a night with this rut sleeve._ Besides the vulgar images that had been spread proudly over the box wasn’t the type of thing that wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention. A cylindrical flesh colored object was a lot less flashy than a brightly colored, fucking sparkly box. 

Steve grabs the sleeve the second his fingers brush it, his cheeks flame even hotter as he holds it fully in his hand, somehow his shame feels one hundred times more amplified with the fucking thing in his hands. Now it’s not just some casual coincidence that he’s got his hand around himself and he also happens to be thinking of his very good friend who’s been haunting every inch of Steve’s mind from the very first time he spoke to him, now it’s a matter of planning. Now he’s not just falling into fantasizing about him. Now he’s intentionally going to get off to Bucky with the assistance of a fucking toy. So… why is his dick harder than ever? Normally any bit of anxiety or stress or humiliation or guilt knocks him right out. Normally he’s not in some super fucking powered rut that’s _not_ been called on early and made worse by said subject of his dirty and innocent dreams. 

Arranging himself back on the bed with a bottle of lube and his rut sleeve has Steve’s mind shutting out everything else but the hammering of his heart and the throbbing of his cock. Which, by the way, is nearly completely a dark purple all the way down to his knot despite the fact that he’s only been awake for fifteen maybe twenty minutes. His knot is also already expanding despite the intentional lack of stimulation he’s been giving himself. Before this second he’s been worried that again he’ll get sucked into the inability to remove his hand from his cock until he passes out because he’s so wrapped up in his rut. 

Pouring lube into the toy makes his ears burn. His cock twitch. And his nipples peak like it’s a hell of a lot colder in the room than it is. Though for once when he's opened this lube, he doesn't notice the smell. He's much too caught up in the imaginary smell of Bucky in heat to think about the poor in comparison chemical, fake smell of slick scented lube. 

Steve sighs long and low as he slides the toy onto himself, the cold bite of the lube is a welcome sensation against the molten lava that seems to be fattening up his cock rather than blood. Even through the thick silicone walls of the toy he can feel his cock throbbing to his racing pulse, Jesus, that’s _good._ So good. It’s not as good as actually being inside someone, he knows this wouldn’t hold a fucking candle to being inside Bucky’s wet, tight body, packed into his cunt, but it’s enough. It’s enough to get Steve’s tensed shoulders to drop and to get his back to bow forward. To get his hips to thrust up into the tight, artificial squeeze of the toy. 

It’s enough to get Steve’s imagination to put in work. 

To give him flashes of a Bucky that would fit the pattern he’s been known to follow to past partners. His brain pulls moans, growls and groans out of his own chest with the imagined images of a softer Bucky. He’s lean like a runner in real life and even that build has Steve panting and drooling at his feet but, god, if he gained even five pounds Steve would be helpless. Forget having his alpha instincts go haywire, he’s forget his instincts altogether he’s sure. He might actually see that and roll over and show Bucky his stomach and his neck. He would give anything to fucking feast on the sight of his Bucky bigger. Not just with a packed, fully cum stuffed belly but just all over- although, _that_ wouldn’t hurt a damn thing. 

Steve thrusts his hips up into the toy. Getting an arm behind him so he can plow forward into the toy, ignoring the obscene wet, sucking noises it’s making in favor of imagining Bucky the way he tends to prefer men. 

And once he starts thinking about it he can’t stop. 

He hasn’t let himself indulge in this fantasy yet, no, he’s stopped himself from letting this part of him out to prey on the omega because he knows it’s weird. Most alphas have breed kinks, most alphas crave to watch their omegas belly stretch with their pups and their cum- neither of those are weird, in fact it’s usually more weird for an alpha to not have those carnal desires. Albeit that his _thing_ isn’t that different from those classic kinks that are ingrained in almost all alphas and a healthy portion of omegas it’s still weird he knows. Most alphas are raised to seek omegas that are dainty and cute and need taking care of. Steve is an outlier with his wants for an omega that outweighs him. With his habit of drooling over an omega that’s got curves for days and soft, thick thighs that are as jiggly or muscular- he’s never been picky when he’s got the opportunity to suffocate via getting an omega to sit on his face. God. Why wouldn’t any alpha seek out bigger, softer, heavier omegas that have more than “child bearing hips”. That have perky asses that are round and gorgeous. That have soft bellies that would be perfect for housing pup after pup. That wouldn’t need to gain a pound during pregnancy and are entirely ready to be bred right then and there- Steve groans as his hindbrain supplies him with the idea of a Bucky who weighs much more than now who also ends up heavy with his kid and marked with his bite, gaining even more weight with his cravings. Getting softer by the week. By the day maybe. Filling out and getting an even rounder belly, a bigger ass, thicker thighs that brush together, Jesus, even a round chest, so sensitive and swollen that he’s not even sensitive to the touch- that he’s sensitive to the fucking breath. That Steve could just pin him down (with difficulty because of his ever swelling belly) and keep his hands above his head while he kissed his neck and panted and drooled over those juicy tits, hearing his thinning whimpers and whines as his dick swells with the feeling of too much and yet not enough. Bucky seems so sensitive in day to day life- surely Steve could get him cumming over the underside of that heavy belly just by teasing him. 

Steve fucks the toy harder, not so much thrusting into the toy as now humping into it animalistically as he pulses it back onto himself just as much, growling and groaning with every breath because it feels so good, it feels so much better if he imagines it as Bucky. And he does. He can’t help himself. 

He can’t stop his thoughts either. 

Straying even further into things he normally doesn’t let himself think about. Getting deeper and deeper into his hindbrain as he imagines Bucky bigger and heavier, not heavy enough to endanger his health, but enough so that Steve could sink his fingers into his hips and ass and get a good fucking handful of him. So he could pull him in and bite and suck as many marks as Bucky could take before he _needs_ more than just his mouth on that golden, soft and plush skin. Imagining the weight of him on top of him when he’s out of rut and Bucky isn’t in heat and their instincts don’t demand them to mate a certain way has Steve nearly biting through his lip. Thinking about when he can viscerally enjoy the way Bucky looks atop him, when he can revel in the fucking weight of him, the comfort that he knows he’s taking good care of his omega. Keeping him healthy and fit to carry as many pups as possible, keeping him comfortable and well fed. When he can watch those plush, full thighs spill out against his own. When he can feel all that extra padding pushing into his waist as Bucky moans and sobs and squeezes his waist in a deathgrip as he rides him like he doesn’t care about all the funny looks people will be giving him for walking so weird and wincing when he’s got to sit. 

Steve nearly orgasms just thinking about hearing him whimper and sputter and beg atop him and the accompanying phantom feeling of his thicker than reality allows for thighs squeezing at him. Desperate proof that Bucky can’t process all of the pleasure Steve’s giving him. That all he can do is hold on for the ride. 

What does have Steve cumming is the following fantasy. 

The fantasy where Bucky’s desperate and needy and mewling for him, maybe he’s on the edge of tipping into full heat too so he’s slick and fragrant with it, smelling fertile and ripe and sweet enough to make his teeth rot from just inhaling his scent. The fucking fantasy featuring his fantasy Bucky that’s just put on enough weight to make him soft and layered with a little chub all over. The fantasy where that fucking desperate, submissive as all hell Bucky begs and pleads him for something- _anything._ And, dear god, would Steve give him anything. He’d give him his mouth first. He’d make Bucky sit on his face and hold the headboard so he could stay upright… or maybe, just maybe he’s drape Bucky down over his body so he could nuzzle into the scent glands at his crotch because he knows from experience that intimate level of scenting makes omegas gush slick like nothing else and Steve wants nothing more than to get a taste of his slick. He wants nothing more than to have Bucky kiss him after and see, feel, and _taste_ his own slick on his face- in his beard. 

Steve wants nothing more than to have Bucky’s thicker, plush thighs to wrap around his head and to squeeze him. He wants nothing more than to feel Bucky’s weight on top of him and _know_ that he’s being the best fucking alpha he can. He wants to hold open his thighs and leave fingerprint bruises on the sensitive, soft skin of his legs. He wants to sink his fingers into his widened hips and make him grind back down onto his mouth, on his tongue, and he wants to make Bucky squeal and scream. He wants to fucking ruin him by making him feel heights of pleasure that he’s not before. He wants him to _take_ what pleasure he wants because he knows that his alpha will do anything to please and care for him. 

Steve spills into the rut sleeve. Swearing, sweating and groaning so intensely that it vibrates his entire chest. His knot pops and expands and Steve feels the toy struggle to fit him inside of it- the pressure is exquisite and makes his vision black completely out. Who’s to say if it’s because he shuts his eyes, because they roll back into his head, or if it’s because all of the previous orgasms he’s had have been so unsatisfactory. Either way sweat beads and rolls down his back and face and Steve growls, feels the toy grow even tighter as his balls finally empty and feel like they’re emptying. 

He doesn’t think about if it’s got anything to do with where his mind was at. He just vows to use the rut sleeve for the rest of his lonely rut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What're you guys thinking of this so far? Lemme know in the comments!! Or on Tumblr if that's more your thing: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/fandomfluffandfuck


	3. Sour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something changes.

_ Ding-Dong  _

Steve jumps approximately an entire foot into the air at the shrill sound - in the back of his head he knows what it is but he’s not paying attention enough to place it - feeling like he’s going to jump out of his own skin somehow as he attempts to process the sound that he just heard. His brain may as well be slugging through knee deep half melted snow that’s now nothing but slush or maybe it’s mud- it feels like it’s harder to think than it would be to walk through half frozen water. And- is snow thinner or thicker than mud? It doesn’t matter though. He hasn’t slept for more than four hours over the past couple of days thanks to his rut and it takes his sleep deprived mind too long to place the familiar sound so he just doesn’t think of it. Instead he struggles to stifle a yawn despite the jarring nature of whatever the sound was, despite the fact that his pulse has spiked. He assures himself that it was nothing and that he’s just being jumpy because of his body’s influx of hormones and instincts and all those lovely things. He keeps walking, arms full of sheets that need to be cleaned. His chest aches vaguely with the pounding of his heart as if the recent events of his life have rendered his heart overworked. Both from the physical needs of his racing pulse from his rut and from the mental workload of constantly marinating himself in fantasies that never  _ ever  _ will come true. 

It’s a true wonder that he hasn’t had a heart attack yet. 

_ Ding-Dong _

Yeah. It’s definitely a miracle that he hasn’t had a heart attack yet. 

Steve feels his eyebrows scrunch together, compulsively he sniffs the air, trying and failing to catch a whiff of what’s causing the intruding sound. All he gets is the stale and somehow still overwhelming of the scent of his own rut. Clinging to his sheets like a pup to their parents when being dropped off at school for the first time. Thinking about his rut has him placing the sound though, so he can’t be too mad at his own overpowering scent that has his nose wrinkling slightly - although his feet have yet to stop because he’s curious but apparently not that curious - he knows that sound. 

The doorbell. 

Of fucking course it’s the doorbell. He’s just an idiot for not realizing it. It makes sense, it’s probably either one of his employees or a friend coming to check in on him. It’s probably Sam actually- Sam doesn’t like it when he coops up in his apartment or in the store and doesn’t tell him. Even if his excuse is his rut like it is this time. He needs to be informed on anything that may change his routine. And his rut was early; he didn’t have time to warn anyone of that so it only makes sense that he’s achieved the need for a search party by this point, in fact he’s surprised that it hasn’t happened earlier on. To everyone else he’s apparently just disappeared for four, well, five now, days with no texts or calls. 

Clint will think it’s weird that he’s disappeared but he’ll assume that it’s an alpha thing. Any of his exes that he’s still friends with won’t ask because they’ll just assume he’s holed up with some omega to pass by his rut. Wanda knows when his rut is and she’s also used to alphas so she’ll have known that that’s why he was out anyway even if he hadn’t sent her a typo riddled text (she also has keys to the shop and is assistant manager so the bakery is  _ fine-  _ he reminds himself urgently). So Sam probably, it kind of only leaves Sam. Sam won’t run away if he doesn’t answer right away either so he conquers the last two or three steps he’s got to take towards the washer and dryer. Depositing the well used sheets into the washer and thanking his earlier self for eating then showering before he cleaned up his apartment and stripped his bed of his old sheets- he’s not sure he’d be able to face even Sam if he reeked the way he always does after a rut. 

Even with the knowledge that all he smells of is soap and cologne, Steve finds himself flushing as he pads over towards the door. His cheeks and ears burning as sweat already begins to gather under his arms because of his constant stupidly above average temperature, turning away from dropping his soiled sheets into the washer with a heavier than normal dull thunk feels like dropping his last line of defense. Even if that shield is blankets and sheets coated with his own cum and sweat from his recently diminished rut. 

Centering himself to not look like someone who’s been caught red handed proves to be a difficult challenge. He feels more sweat gather around his underarms and palms right along with the influx of blood towards his face. Sam surely knows what’s up anyway. Right? Hopefully he’ll just not mention the scent that’s coating his apartment and himself. 

“Sorry S-” Steve cuts himself off in shock, swinging the door open and yet again his brain tells him to find cover. Impulsively he nearly just pulls the door shut again. Ridiculousness assaults his body and mind- he doesn’t need to hide, he doesn’t need to block himself from the person standing at his apartment’s door. Or he wouldn’t if… Steve looks up, wondering when his eyes landed on the floor, and more surprise assaults him at the fact that his visitor is still there. His eyes widen and his blush deepens significantly. 

Looking like a fucking knight in shining armor who’s the subject of a lifetimes worth of legends stands Bucky. 

Bucky. Bucky is standing at his door. 

“Bucky,” Steve finds himself whispering, he hopes Bucky doesn’t read too far into why he’s whispering seeing as he doesn’t even know himself but he knows on a primal level that it reveals a lot about him. His chest feels hot and crushed. He feels like he’s that scrawny, scrappy kid from the not so savory part of Brooklyn all over again instead of the imposing alpha he’s come to be.  _ He hadn’t even thought that Bucky might be wondering where he went.  _ He feels a pup-like whimper build up in his chest. He tightens his lips together so it doesn’t accidentally slip out of him. He hadn’t- he’d just tried to put himself out of his misery by not even  _ thinking _ about Bucky when he wasn’t  _ using _ him for his own benefit. He’s already sick enough with his bright burning shame and the last thing he needs is more of that. He feels like he needs another shower- he wasn’t thinking of Bucky with any dignity. He wasn’t thinking of him as anything but an object of obsession and objectification. He might as well be every bit as bad as those alpha’s his ma told him to  _ NEVER  _ be like. He might be worse…

He might melt straight into a puddle of disgrace and shame if he adds even another drop of those poor but uncontrollable emotions get into the cracks of his consciousness and pollute him further from the good man that he tries so hard to be. 

He might just cease to exist in this moment if he connects the real Bucky,  _ his dear friend,  _ in with the Bucky that he’s been using like nothing but a sex-doll. 

Steve feels criminal when he takes the real Bucky, standing in front of him, in. He fights the snarl that wants to curl up out of his soul because as much as he deserves to scorn himself the last thing he wants is for Bucky to think that something is the matter that he’s done. Steve has fucked everything up. 

He’s just now lucid enough to realize what he’s done to the real Bucky by having a fantasy Bucky… his light lunch might make another appearance. 

The real Bucky is defeated. 

But that’s just what his hindbrain is telling him and he’s been getting into trouble with his subconscious so he ignores it for now. He steps minutely closer to Bucky and the first thing that hits Steve is his scent - which makes his mind forget entirely about his own likely obvious scent - he smells acidic and sour. It supports his hindbrains ultimatum unfortunately. The brunette smells like spoiled food as opposed to his normal fresh, sugary scent that’s more than mouth watering and may actually have the potential to give anyone in a close range cavities just from breathing him in. He smells  _ sad _ and his alpha instincts are fucking  _ screaming and writhing  _ demanding that he fix whatever issue is causing him to smell such a way. He tries to push them away but they only grow in volume, demanding that he make that delicious scent return for his own selfish needs and for the benefit of the omega. Steve’s ashamed that his own need to be able to smell his regular scent comes anywhere close to the need to just have Bucky to be happy again. But that’s not all. 

It’s hard for Steve to get around the full change in his scent but it’s narrowly possible, he carefully side-steps around it in order to avoid stepping over the edge of the narrow trail- he doesn’t want to go tumbling down into obsessing over why exactly his scent has been so altered. His actual body also screams a desperate echo of what his scent can tell him already. His shoulders are drooping and curled inward like he’s trying to protect himself from something while also having too much weight on them. Like he’s walking through the rain and is also cold because of the water drenching him. His head is bowed and Steve can’t leave the metaphor he’s thought of, he’s in the posture taken on when running from a building to a car when the weather is poor. He’s trapped perpetually in between running from one shelter to the next. Exposed and kept vulnerable. 

Another obvious tell is that his hair isn’t kept up in one of those pretty but simple updos he normally has it in: he’s got no visible brains miniature or otherwise, no half gathered bun that keeps the top of his hair separate from the bottom, no slicked back ponytail keeping his hair from his handsome face, no full messy bun that allows for strands of his hair to frame his features beautifully, not even a ponytail that’s just gathered at the base of his neck. Nothing. His hair is just falling precariously about his face. Steve has had daydreams about waking up to the omega and being able to see what his hair looks like completely natural (he wants to know if Bucky is or isn’t exaggerating the unruly nature of his hair before product) but he almost doesn’t want to look now. Now it’s not organic and intimate. Now it’s another sign of defeat- Steve doesn’t want Bucky to be defeated. He doesn’t deserve it.

Steve swallows, banishing his own comforting rumbles that want to break free to ease the omega’s distress. Something is majorly wrong. Something that he has the feeling that even if it was appropriate for him to comfort Bucky in such a traditionally alpha way it wouldn’t be enough. There’s just a complete air around him, an atmosphere really, that suggests that this is too big to be fixed with proximity and primitive noises. 

It hits him then, accompanying his own need to verbalize something… Bucky hasn’t even spoken to him yet. He hasn’t even looked up at him. He hasn’t let him see his face. 

Does he not want Steve to see him? His face?

His stomach fills with concrete, hard and cold and unforgiving, and it’s all he can do to step aside- to force his own body to move away from his rather than to embrace it. Bucky steps inside without any further instruction and Steve aches with something new, new to this situation but not new entirely. Not new to being around Bucky. The pride of someone being so good hits him like a punch to the chest. 

Bucky is so good. 

He’s not the average omega, never has been and Steve knows he doesn’t want to be, but he’s just so  _ good  _ without being obviously good simply because he’s an omega. If any of that can make any sense? He’s unique. Although now it makes salty spit flow up into his mouth the way that usually predates the urge to vomit when he’s sick. Now it’s tainted with something that has a growl burning in his chest with the need to be thrown out into the world. He swallows until he’s completely sure that he won’t set it free and he’s sorta half sure that he won’t vomit. His saliva is thick and salty and he almost makes a face from his emotions mixed with his spit (Bucky isn’t looking at him but it feels inappropriate to hide it). 

…his actions don’t seem so much like a  _ good  _ thing or a  _ Bucky  _ thing this time. Not as much as all the sudden they feel like  _ submission.  _ Steve swallows quickly in succession, nearly choking in an attempt to ward off any urges to gag. He seems broken. He seems like he’s submitting because he doesn’t have anything else left to do. Like he doesn’t feel like he  _ can  _ do anything else. 

However, it’s not until he shuts the door behind Bucky and is following him into the living room where he’s been a thousand times before over the course of their somewhat recent but flourishing friendship that he notices the bag shrugged over his protectively hunched shoulders. It’s just a simple backpack and even if it wasn’t it wouldn’t capture his attention for very long, all of his attention has Bucky’s name scrawled all over it. What he does notice is that it’s bulging in a way that makes Steve’s head reel. Did he miss a text from Bucky that proclaimed they were going to have a movie night again? If so… why does he have so much stuff with him? Did something happen that’s not  _ that?  _ What did happen? Why didn’t he text? He doesn’t care that he didn’t text, god knows he can’t be mad at him for that, but it’s making this all the more mysterious and he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t know how to fix this if he doesn’t know what’s gone wrong. 

A deeper frown tugs at his facial muscles when he takes in the other bag, a small but still good sized duffle bag, that’s limply being cradled by his right hand. It too is stuffed full. Steve swallows not just salt thickened spit but bile. He fights the face he wants to make. He fights the instincts rising into the forefront of his mind and to the top of his throat- something is  _ wrong.  _ He’s also fighting the way he wants to reach out; either to scratch the back of his own neck or to pull Bucky in, to cradle him, and not let him go until he’s actually pushed all of the broken feelings back inside him together. Everything inside him is repeating the exact same thing- something is  _ seriously  _ wrong with this picture. The picture that encompasses a deflated and defeated Bucky, his lack of words or explanation when normally he could literally be tripped in broad daylight and still attempt to explain himself to everyone like they didn’t see the infraction. He’s carrying his bags as if they weigh a million tons. The fact that he’s looking at the floor as he walks just adds to the strange atmosphere, even that is  _ not _ normal for him. It’s not his normal stride. Everything is out of place. Everything screams of a warped world that Steve has never seen Bucky inhabit before. Everything has him reeling and hoping that he can just stay on his own feet for Bucky’s sake. 

Steve makes sure to offer that he sit down as casually as he possibly can when Bucky makes it into his living room. He doesn’t look up to question whether or not he should sit in this room. He also doesn’t look up when Steve gives him the gentle order. Steve feels phantom shivers crawl up his spine and shoot down his arms despite the comfortable temperature of the room. 

Alarm bells may be blasting in his head and giving him irreversible tinnitus but he knows from the lack of words or verbalization in any sense that Bucky doesn’t exactly want whatever has happened to be put out into the world yet. Steve doesn’t even know if what has happened to  _ him  _ directly or not. He’s got no fucking idea. 

What he does know is that he needs to keep himself in line during this interaction - he can’t let any damage done during his pathetic performance during his rut leak out into this - but he assumes that Bucky just needs to keep it to himself for a little longer. He needs to stew in his own mind. Steve knows Bucky’s smart ( _ the smartest cookie _ as Sam once joked after listening to Steve rant about how Bucky’s into engineering as a way of drawing the parallel between Steve’s passion for baking and for Bucky) so he’s probably just thinking it over, trying to figure out how to provide Steve with an explanation. Maybe he’s still trying to figure out what he’s feeling- he’s definitely the type of person who knows to walk away from something difficult before returning (that might explain his accompanying bags at least). 

Steve intends to keep him as comfortable as possible and to let him do whatever he needs to. He can give him space even if it makes his own skin crawl with the want to help. He can. He can give Bucky that. 

Bucky clearly doesn’t need any added discomfort and Steve will  _ not _ be the person to give it to him; if he does anything he’ll be the one to stop any additional discomfort and hurt and it’ll only happen if the person can get through  _ him _ . Bucky deserves that and so, so much more. 

Steve mumbles that he’s going to make them something to drink and that he’ll be back, he barely even hears his own words over the blender chopping up his thoughts. Turning his back to the omega mercifully allows for his alpha instincts to  _ protect _ seep out of him, or at least diminish into the lowest level that they can when Bucky’s around. And he breathes easier at the stiff but visible nod Bucky gives him as he turns, his muscles relax even as he barrades himself for being so possessive.  _ Not yours. Not yours. Not yours,  _ he repeats the mantra as he trudges to the kitchen. 

_ He’s not yours to protect.  _

This is something he can do though; he can’t wrap him up into a blanket burrito and keep him safe from everything but, he can make him something that will comfort him. He can provide comfort with good food and drink. This he can help with. Maybe even fix some small things with. He can make comfort food and beverages and anything he wants for his  _ friend _ . He can ply him with food and keep their mouths busy with other things than words if that’s what it takes to make him comfortable. If he doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s going on with him he can give them something to talk about that’s not exactly small talk. Something that isn’t obviously avoiding the bigger subject at hand. If Bucky isn’t smelling like sweetness personified he can feed him sweet things. He can give him this olive branch. He can-

Steve shakes his head, beginning to slip into the easy routine of moving around the kitchen. Sour tinged thoughts bounce around Steve’s head still, even after the dislodging shake, but they’re lessened in volume now. He wishes he could comfort Bucky with the same ease that he can move about his own kitchen, pulling ingredients and mixing them. Instead he’s- well… he would compare it to walking on eggshells but he’s literally done that while trying to bake and so it’s, it’s just not the analogy he’s looking for. It’s more like he’s been asked to do some complex calculus problem that Bucky’s described that he’s able to do with ease seeing as he uses daily or at least weekly with his job.  _ Aerospace Engineer.  _ Jesus, is the beautiful, disheartened omega sitting on his sofa smart. He revels in his awe as he reaches for two mugs out of the embarrassingly large collection he has. 

Carefully and as slowly as Steve can manage, he ventures back to the living room where he’s left Bucky alone. Eagerly he watches the pale brown of the drinks nearly spill over the edges of the white rimmed mugs he’s collected (there’s a NASA one for Bucky (hopefully that’ll make him smile) and a Brooklyn skyline gracing the one meant for himself), biting his lip in concentration doesn’t help when he’s filled them way too fucking full. He apparently was a bit too hopeful that homemade, not from the packet, hot chocolate would help warm the brunette up. In more ways than one. Every step he takes he grows more worried that he’ll either spill their drinks or that he’ll look up and find Bucky to be gone (or even worse, his mind supplies him with the possibility that he might be crying or having a panic attack). 

When his feet transfer the rest of his body from hardwood to the carpet he’s got splayed out over the dark wood under the coffee table and couch his lungs stop working. His esophagus pinches tight and he nearly chokes on what little air can enter his body. It’s useless air. He’s not thinking about breathing and his body apparently has spontaneously forgotten as well. 

“Hereee-” Steve narrowly stops himself from addressing him as his designation title, his instincts have taken up more of his mind and they’re insisting that he comfort the man in front of him the way you would comfort any omega. Ignoring that Bucky’s nothing if not a brilliantly unusual omega. He looks up, sealing his traitorous lips, ensuring that Bucky is reaching for the mug before he drops and spills the sweetened drink all over the both of them. Bucky loves looking good. He doesn’t want to ruin that, he never does, but especially not when he’s upset already. 

Steve’s world stops moving. 

His internal clock quits its ticking. His muscles both tense and relax at the exact same time. His heart doesn’t just break but it twists and crumbles like a cigarette butt underfoot of whomever’s just finished with it. He’d honestly rather his heart just be put out like a cigarette rather than endure the twisting, sharp pain shooting into his chest. 

Bucky’s been crying. 

Steve wants to cry sheerly out of primal reaction. Looking down at him as he stands in front of him, almost between his legs that are lax out of what must be emotional exhaustion, just makes it so much worse. It makes Bucky look smaller than his five foot eight or so frame normally does. The normal height difference between them can be jarring, six inches is a lot more than one would picture in their mind, but this has Steve’s feeling raw and gutted in a way that’s not even remotely fun. It makes Bucky seem like a child. Small and helpless. That’s not the worst of it though. The worst is his eyes. His eyes are so fucking pretty. So purely stunning and gorgeous and reflective, shimmering with any little bit of light and crinkling adorably when he laughs or smiles. Now… now his eyes are rimmed with red and pink and it’s driving a javelin through his chest- obliterating his heart. They look bluer than normal because of the red. It’s apparently been long enough since he had cried that his eyes aren’t watery and shiny with tears but it’s not been long enough to hide all of the evidence. His cheeks are pink too and streaked with old tear tracks like he either hadn’t bothered wiping away the tears or he hadn’t had time. Either possibility has him cracking apart even further. 

Bucky breaks their eye contact first but thankfully he doesn’t seem to have noticed Steve’s complete mental breakdown, he just seems to be interested in the mug that’s been handed to him. 

Steve sits himself on the couch. Numb. He doesn’t even spend the time to think about what distance is appropriate for friends to be at. He just sits. 

“Ma’s recipe,” he offers, the words seem to tremble in the air between them, heavily and shakily weighing on them both. Bucky’s head twitches to the side. He continues to stare into his mug but Steve can see the way his brow scrunches together. He can’t find it in himself to make his lips shape any words, if he did try he’s fairly certain that all that would come out would be an unintelligible cry. 

“Recipe?” Bucky says, his voice soft and rough at the same time. He has been crying, Steve thinks mournfully. 

His lips move without his brain processing the reasoning for his mouth to move, apparently the food and drink thing is just a comfort for himself rather than Bucky, “yeah, her recipe, she used to make it when I was sick.” He chuckles dryly, “so she made it a lot, y’know? It’s not as hard as you’d think to make it from scratch.” 

Bucky breathes in slowly, shyly almost, “I… I didn’t know you could do that.” 

Steve hums, shrugging, “most people don’t I guess.” 

They sit in silence for an eerie amount of time, it feels like he shouldn’t be breathing in the same space as Bucky, not because he doesn’t feel welcome but because he doesn’t feel like he should be given the privilege. He shouldn’t be allowed to sit here and sip hot chocolate with such a precious person with what he’s done. Even if said person doesn’t know about what he’s done. 

Steve’s on his last swallow of comfort drink when Bucky swallows audibly, dryly. He’s been practically chugging his own drink, seemingly barely breathing between swallows, although the mug Steve chose for him solely based on the decoration on the outside of it was one of those mugs that are really a bucket with a convenient handle so he’s only now finishing. It’s strange. Lucky, really, that Steve chose and even had that mug. 

Though his collection and selection of mugs is the last thing on his mind when Bucky swallows a second time and opens with, “I’m… ‘m sorry for not calling you first.”

“What?” Steve finds himself asking. Brilliantly. 

Bucky’s lips don’t even twitch with a smile like they normally do when he’s being a meatball, “I didn’t call or text you. I just crashed your party.” He sounds miserable. 

He can’t help himself from gesturing widely about the room and rumbling, “you see any flashing lights or pounding music?” He doesn’t pause to allow Bucky to answer his questions, “your hot chocolate isn’t even spiked. There’s no party here, well, I don’t know what engineers consider parties but…” Bucky’s lips quirk the smallest amount so Steve keeps going, “if this is a party to you you seriously missed out on the essential parts of college.” 

“Essential?” Bucky inquires, his lips pulling up even more, Steve finds a tiny little spark of a twinkle in those pink-rimmed eyes. 

“Essential.” Steve agrees with a resolute nod. 

More silence settles between them but this time there’s no gentle sips and swallows to cushion the absence of interaction. It feels less like a comfortable silence and one that’s charged with threads of silk that are vibrating between them like guitar strings, tight but beautiful if treated the correct way. 

Bucky shifts once. Then twice. A third and fourth and a fifth come and go within a single second. 

“Steve?” 

Steve glances up from his lap, expecting to see something, something that’s not Bucky looking over at him like he’s a kicked puppy. Timid and small. He doesn’t look like he’s kicked someone’s puppy. No. He looks like the poor puppy often abused in that common metaphor. Steve tries to make himself less alpha-like foolishly, relaxing his shoulders but not pushing them back in a way that might come across as intimidating, making sure that he’s meeting Bucky’s eyes but not challenging him, even going as far as to sync his own breathing to Bucky’s. He wants Bucky to not even see him as a threat in the deepest, most uncontrollable parts of his hindbrain. On the off chance that this has something to do with his alpha girlfriend he doesn’t want to set off any alarm bells for Bucky. 

Bucky shifts again, uncomfortable or restless, his face is blank but still… still sad? Or some emotion that’s similar. 

He looks towards Steve at the same time that he drops his shoulders and rolls his back so he’s slouching and looking up at him, more so than usual at least, he opens his mouth afterwards. Shuts it. Opens it again and closes it again. Steve gets the message loud and clear. Bucky is now ready to tell him what’s going on but he doesn’t know where to start. He’s making himself smaller on purpose too, doing the same thing that he himself is. Making himself not a threat. 

Hot anger burns bright and heavy through him for a second. Someone’s surely  _ done  _ something to him. Bucky isn’t like this. He’s not underfoot of anyone. He’s not just an omega that takes orders because that’s what society tells him, he’s, he’s-

Steve takes a deep breath on behalf of them both.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to y’know?” 

Bucky nods. He doesn’t even make an attempt at talking this time. Steve plows ahead, trying to not feel or react to the rope tightening and tightening around his ribs, “you also don’t have to tell me right now and you sure as hell don’t need to apologize for coming over here. You can always come over un-”  _ uninvited _ is the word circling his head and nearly falling out of his lips but he assumes that that’ll do more damage than good so he revises, “you can always come over unannounced. God knows I could use the socializing,” Bucky looks relieved and almost like he might chuckle if he opens his mouth from the tense line he’s set it in, “so.” Steve starts to prepare for jumping into the deep end, steeling himself because he knows he’s not going to like whatever has upset him this much, “what’s up?” 

Bucky breathes out in the way that he recognizes as an antianxiety or as a yoga technique, “could-” he pauses to break their eye contact and Steve’s brain autofills in his sentence as  _ could I have some more hot chocolate,  _ he tenses his muscles in readying himself to stand. Which makes it all the more jarring when Bucky’s quiet voice picks back up to finish the sentence, “could I, uhm, I have a hug f-first?”

Steve has got no idea how his jaw stays connected to the rest of his skull. 

He nods dumbly, feeling like a bobble head right up until the point where Bucky collapses onto him, hopefully the ridiculous motion of his head hides the trembling of his bottom lip. After what feels like an eternity he’s able to get the verbalization out, breathing “yeah,” as Bucky lunges forward and buries his head in the junction between his shoulder and neck. He didn’t even bother getting off of the couch; he just dove straight in. Steve feels his body warm and glow in a way that’s not just due to the additional body heat, he’s entirely sure that his cheeks are already pink as a result of the bubbling emotions piling high under his skin. He lets his arms wrap around the smaller man’s back, snaking his own arm under his to cradle his lean body, rubbing the real-estate that he’s been allowed to have a look over. Nothing short of a deadly weapon through his heart can stop the rumble that barrels out of his chest. Bucky doesn’t purr back but Steve hadn’t expected him to, seeing as he’s still upset and omegas only tend to purr when happy or very content and pleased. Instead of purring though, he tucks his face and body closer. Which is just as good for now. Steve can feel the sweep of his pretty lashes over his skin right along with the chilly press of his nose and the subsequent puffs of warm air from his gently parted lips. Steve sighs through his rumbling, his core tightening with good feelings- like a hug feels. 

Steve fights the small expression of “oh” that dares to press against the back of his teeth as he realizes what exactly he’s feeling beyond the literal. He feels  _ right _ . Bucky feels like home. Natural and easy as breathing. 

“She left,” Bucky whispers, nosing the collar of the worn-in shirt he threw on that morning. 

Steve understands the meaning immediately although he’s got no idea what to say to let Bucky know that he knows what he means. He can’t think of anything. All he knows is the repeated whispered heartbreaking words, echoing eerily inside his head that’s apparently now entirely empty. Instead of trying to talk he just lets one of his hands wander up from his back to his head, not petting his hair because that’s too not exactly pure intentioned seeming, but just putting his palm on his head. Kind of like you’d do to a dog when you pause your petting. Just resting your hand to let them know that you’re still there with them. Letting him know it’s okay. He’ll be here for him. No matter what; no matter the way he feels. He keeps his other hand stations over his spine, petting up and down the line and crushing down every instinct arising in him that demands him to  _ feed the omega.  _

Bucky sniffles and squeezes his arms in return to his own gesture of head cradling but not petting. 

“Good things fall apart sometimes, Buck,” and… apparently things also just fall out of his mouth too because he didn’t even come up with that himself, right? He heard nothing of that thought in his head before it crossed his lips and was pushed into the world. 

Bucky chokes a little on some quiet, vulnerable sound and Steve’s lungs squeeze in empathy, he almost sounds like he’s laughing but… not, “‘m not sure it was all that good,” Steve almost misses the second part of his sobering words, he’s sure if his breath hadn’t been fanning his skin he would have. “Not now.”

Gently as he possibly can muster Steve untangles Bucky from him, already mourning the lessened body contact and heat before it’s even fully gone, keeping their bodies close together but far enough that he can read Bucky’s features he asks, horrified, “what? What do you mean?” Steve can’t do anything to stop his rogue left hand from snapping up and tilting Bucky’s cutely dimpled chin up some so he can see his eyes as well. Bucky visibly softens at the move though, so he doesn’t fumble over his own overprotective actions for long. Especially not when it gets Bucky to talking.

“She… I knew she was-wasn’t, like, the happiest?” Steve hangs onto every broken fracture of his words even though everyone of them is cutting into him like he’s got a deathgrip on a shard of glass. If he knew… is that why he had all of his bags packed? Normally if someone’s crashing fresh off of a breakup they’ve got, like, a handful of shit. Not two whole bags that appear to contain all of their belongings. “I mean I knew… I knew there was something going on with her that she wasn’t telling me, y’know?” He nods, tightly. “Yeah. I just…” Bucky actually shivers. So. Steve just pulls him back into his arms. The little exhale he lets go is just as shaky, “I never thought to, like, question her.” Steve picks back up with the running of his hands down Bucky’s back, trying not to shiver at how much of Bucky he can feel against him. 

Bucky gathers himself back up after a minute, “it’s not that I didn’t  _ as-k, _ ” his voice breaks. Steve wants nothing more than to break something himself. He wants to swaddle Bucky and wait for him to fall asleep so he can go and break some piece of wood or rip some rag worthy shirt or fucking something. He can’t handle a broken Bucky. He can’t. He- he doesn’t deserve anything that’s even tiptoeing towards hurt, let alone actual heartbreak. “I asked.” The omega offers, defiant, Steve can easily picture the proud pout of his lips, the jut that says he’s sticking up for something he believes in. 

“And she didn’t tell you?” He finds himself guessing, lowering his own voice to match Bucky’s soft timbre. Bucky shakes his head slightly, just enough for Steve to feel it. He also feels the way Bucky’s spine curls and then shifts under his palms and once he’s lifted his own arms out of the way for just a moment, his breath gets caught in his chest. He had thought that Bucky was moving up out of his hold. He hadn’t assumed or thought that Bucky was nestling deeper into his hold… but he can feel the press of the brunette’s forehead to his sternum. Surely the way he’s sitting, half turned towards him, can’t be comfortable. Yet. Steve can’t bear to break the spell. 

“She didn’t,” he confirms. 

“She tell you anything? Give you a why or..?” 

Bucky hums in thought, possibly also using the noise to stall for time, “she.” He breathes out. Steve feels the furrowing of his brow against his chest. Warmth like sunshine trapped in honey drips down his spine and chest and his body glows with it as his mind thrashes with whitewater. It’s got his head feeling like it’s spinning right off of his shoulders. “She… she was waiting-” Bucky snuggles closer and Steve’s got no fucking clue of what that fucking means. She was waiting? Waiting for what? 

“She was waiting for someone else.” 

“ _ While dating you _ ?” The growl in his voice only hits his ears after it’s fought its way out of his mouth, curling barbed wire ensnaring his words.  _ Great,  _ he thinks to himself, preparing to feel Bucky pull away from him. No one likes an angry alpha no matter their own designation but he’s well aware that omegas are the most likely to hate any alpha who is angry. That - his instincts whisper -  _ or they’ll be scared of you.  _ Steve wants to whine and bury his nose into Bucky’s hair at the possibility of Bucky being scared of him, ironically he’s scared of that happening. 

Sweet relief crashes down over him when Bucky chuckles lightly, it’s barely detectable in his own voice but it’s there, “yeah,” His voice sounds less cheerful and more brittle as he finishes the thought with a quiet, “I know.” Steve lets his chest puff fully out, Bucky’s own breath follows his and then his words do, “she never told me that. That she was waiting for… for, like, another person.” 

“Oh, Buck,” he starts, not having any idea where he’s going with his lamentation. 

Bucky hums again, nearly sighing as a little, “yeah” slips out of him. “I guess said person she was waiting for has been, b-been back for a while-”

“No,” Steve interrupts him, his words getting too slippery for him to keep in his big mouth. He feels him nod. 

“She talked with them I guess and they decided that they should get back together.” Bucky barks out a laugh, “not that she told me any of this. She just up and decided that she’d break it off with me after they got started.” Steve gives his hands permission to float from his back down to his ribs and up again, covering what he can reach of his back in body heat- fading as it may be. And the situation is so dire in his mind that he’s not even thinking about the fact that he’s practically coating Bucky in his own scent. Dragging his palms and subsequently his wrists all fucking over this omega. Bucky doesn’t say it either and because he’s not thinking about it he’ll never know if it’s because he also hasn’t noticed it or if it’s because he’s okay with it. 

Steve assumes Bucky’s done talking now that he knows the broad picture and strokes of what has happened but Bucky continues to surprise him, “a whole month” he whispers and presses the whole right side of his face to his chest rather than just his forehead. Steve doesn’t need to ask for clarification.  _ She led him on for a whole month.  _

“Steve-” 

Bucky’s voice breaks him out of the circling thoughts that are now polluting his projected calmness. His voice isn’t unkind or upset… just attention-seeking. He’s trying to get his attention. He’s not paying attention, he’s- 

Steve checks in with himself. Blushing furiously when he finds the hearty growl that’s vibrating his whole chest.

Bucky blushes right back at him, nodding, and clear as day Steve understands what the confirmation is for. Bucky is validating his frustration and anger and telling him that that’s just how he felt or, well, it’s how he feels. Present tense. Steve knows he’s clearly not over this- and he SHOULDN’T be. It’s only been an hour or so since he showed up here, so, maybe it’s been two hours at the most for him to process all this. Steve finally reins in his own growl, feeling his face flood with even more blood; it’s not inherently embarrassing to have such a primal reaction but it is embarrassing to have such a primal reaction towards something that technically doesn’t even involve him. He licks his lips, ducking his head, he doesn’t even want to verbally apologize because he knows Bucky’s okay with his reaction and he also doesn’t really want to acknowledge his own reaction out loud. He settles for sheepish body language instead, cowering in on himself a little. Bucky doesn’t make a sound but he does squeeze his arms again- Steve startles, forgetting that they were just hugging. Well. Kinda cuddling, kinda hugging. Either way the pressure around his ribs and back is good because it reminds him that he does exist in his body and he’s not just a brain in a jar of stewed emotions. 

“You… uhh, you want some more hot chocolate?” His voice is still just as coated in embarrassment as his face probably is  _ but _ his face isn’t rough with such an aggressive growl like his voice. 

“Yes, please?” Bucky’s voice isn’t laced with his frustration, it’s just soft and sad. But it’s hopeful too. Steve’s chest swells with pride at that last possibly imagined inflection. 

Steve wanders back to Bucky as his thoughts wander.  _ Will he ever get to hold Bucky like that again? Has what he’s been doing with Bucky the same thing that Bucky’s ex-alpha had been doing? He wasn’t in a relationship but… it’s not that different, right? Would Bucky forgive him if he found out? Does Bucky feel anything that’s not platonic for him? …most logical people (Bucky’s the most logical person he’s ever met or heard of) don’t cling to people like that, whether or not they’ve just been broken up with- no. No. He reminds himself. Just because Bucky’s been broken up with does not mean he’s now fair game. He needs space to breathe. _

Halfway between setting his own mug down onto the table after passing Bucky’s off, their hands having brushed significantly, his hindbrain growls that Bucky looks wrong on his couch, he looks wrong sitting on his  _ empty  _ couch. It’s not even empty, not really, Steve’s logical thoughts argue. But it doesn’t matter. Just as soon as he notices it he can’t unnotice it and it’s got his inner alpha  _ squirming.  _

A sly little sigh slips out from under his exhale and it’s all he can do to keep the volume of the sign low and careful. He’s not upset at Bucky but he knows how emotions can change things like that, how emotions can twitch and pervert otherwise innocent things. Bucky should have more than comfort food and drinks, he should be  _ comfortable.  _ Steve argues with himself even as he makes the decision to snatch the remote from its perch near his fresh cup of hot chocolate. He spares a quick look to the small omega sitting next to where he should be sitting but isn’t for some reason, not yet, he doesn’t spy any confusion or worry painting his features. He actually looks… relaxed. Huh. Steve flicks on the TV, nodding to himself with approval, Bucky doesn’t mind that he’s putting on what could be seen as a barrier or distraction between them- their connection. 

As soon as Netflix loads Steve is placing the remote next to Bucky’s thigh, carefully not touching his leg because he’s not sure he can handle himself anyway with Bucky in his immediate vicinity so touching him is out of the question, particularly when everything in him is telling him to  _ make the omega comfortable. To keep him warm and fed. To make sure he’s got everything he needs. _

“Your pick,” slips out of his throat with the ease of air, “I’ll be right back.” Bucky’s pretty, full lips shape into something that seems to hold a question but he slices through any anxiety that’s even thinking of becoming more than a half-baked concept with a little smile. It’s like watching the sun rise after spending months in the dark of an Alaskan winter. Mystifying. 

Steve is one hundred percent sure that he stumbles over his feet when he tries to turn away from that sight, but, then as he bangs his hip into the corner of the sofa that he’s not paying enough attention to even be sure. Bucky breathes out a little worried noise and a rouge laugh bubbles up out of him. Internally Steve draws his eyebrows together, worrying that if he’s not careful his tiny burst of laughter will turn into one of those huge, relieving fits of crying-laughter that he’ll never live down. Or one that will make Bucky realize that he’s in the company of an insane man. He at least has to make it out of the room first before he shatters his composure. 

Never has a walk down the hall been so marvelous. 

Not that walking away from Bucky is marvelous, it’s the exact opposite, but it’s marvelous to feel his head clear. 

The clearing out and melting away of all those screaming instincts and primal urges feels like losing the weight of a boulder over his shoulders. He doesn’t always hate being an alpha, most of the time it’s just something that he kind of glares at and banishes to the corner of the metaphorical room for a timeout but it’s shit like this that turns that annoyance into full blown hatred. At least full force despise. It’s a strange game of tail chasing most of the time. He’s got to listen to every little alpha instinct in him all of the time and having them go into overdrive makes him feel, well, he’s always had it drilled into him that alphas are just brutes that take and ask later if they ever even do ask. And having an omega that his body wants so much but can’t have makes him feel like every awful, dangerous knot-head that he’s ever heard about. 

And worst of all. Those stories aren’t even usually meant to scare alpha’s into changing their behavior. They’re meant to keep omegas in line and pinned down by what society thinks of them. Dainty little flowers that have to be protected by an alpha who probably will borderline abuse them but, hey, at least that alpha will keep them  _ safe  _ from the other alphas that are probably only just a hair worse. 

Steve opens the hall closet with more force than necessary although he makes sure that it’s not enough force to cause any damage, as well as not enough to make a sound that might frighten Bucky. The aggressive swing of the door does  _ something  _ for him but it’s not enough, it kind of feels like wanting to yell at someone (in this case that someone is himself but still) but just drinking some soda and holding it in your mouth to feel the carbonation instead. It’s not really what he wants to do. What he wants to do is bury his head in his own bed and wallow in his self-pity fest until he figures out how to not be the shitty alpha that he has been. How to get over Bucky because his body just keeps clamoring for him, thinking he’s his omega already because he’s been thinking about him so often. Although- 

His hands move from the door to the blankets kept inside. Interrupting his thoughts with more thoughts. Ones that tell him he’s taking a suspicious amount of time and Bucky’s going to come looking for him before he’s ready to be looked at. 

Before he shuts the door and takes away his wooden shield he brings the top blanket to his face and growls loud enough into it that his throat burns during and after he’s made the sound. The  _ very  _ alpha sound. His vision sparkles and darkens even after he lifts his head from the pile of blankets in his hands. He inhales, shaky and slow. He tightens his hands to fists around them while he’s at it, gritting his jaw to replace the feeling when he has to let go in order to grab the door. One last deep breath. In. Out. 

Steve shuts the door. Letting every part of himself relax and clearing his mind as much as he can without the proper tools of dusters and mops and…

His feet are moving. 

He’s walking back to Bucky. Back to his friend that’s upset and needs comfort purely because he’s upset. Not for any other reason. 

He’s going to offer Bucky some blankets (that hopefully haven't sucked in the scent of his rut (they live kinda close to his bedroom)) because just like himself he’s got instincts that are probably keeping him off centered. His head is probably clawing at him to nest and provide himself with the comfort that he’s used to feeling, on some level, with his old alpha. He’s going to go and sit down next to Bucky and either laugh with him or cry with him, depending on whatever show he’s picked out. He’s going to hug him again if he asks or if he looks like he wants to ask. He’s going to make him some dinner later if he hasn’t eaten yet (normally he would’ve already eaten but… things are different tonight), or if he doesn’t want any real food they’ll have a bunch of junk food because junk food is good and because he’s got a shameful stash at the back of that hard to get to cabinet that are for situations like this. He’s going to have a night with Bucky that is for him. There’s nothing different between tonight and every other time they’ve hung out, nothing is different because he’s still off limits. He’s still  _ not  _ Steve’s omega. He never has been. He never will be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THINGS GET BETTER- I'm sorry for making our boys upset!


	4. Honeyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky spend the morning together and Steve has a, uhm, hard time with some things.

There isn’t a first thought that pops into Steve’s mind when his eyes flutter open and he takes in the familiar surroundings of his living room. There is not even any part of him that questions the fact that he’s in the living room and not his bedroom. He is just in the living room and he’s fine with it, more than fine with it really seeing as he’s not consciously thinking of it. He’s just accepted it all. He’s just a single drop of water floating around in the pool that is his mind, being kept afloat by every other drop that makes up the whole thing, weightless and easy. He’s just here. Along for the ride. To be fair it’s a very enjoyable ride anyway. Warm and cozy and soft and just good. It’s as good as it is pure.

All is well. 

The first thing that  _ does  _ hit him though is a wave of memories, a little ripple in his pool of his mind that makes him want to shiver right along with the sloshing surface. He wants to continue to follow along with the pattern, he doesn’t need to rock the boat today, he simply wants to follow the change to see where it goes. Today he’s great, he’s not feeling like fighting. He embraces the incoming wave easily even though any other time it might have been frightening, expecting it to be more of a tsunami than the gentle wave that’s really not even a wave, more of a ripple. Still he spreads his arms and accepts it, foam and water curling around his body like an old sweatshirt. 

The wave of memories itself is not a kind of wave that makes you see flashes or little snapshots of memories possibly from a night spent out drinking too much of everything, no, it’s the kind of wave that suddenly has his own self is being swept up in a current of memories that are all complete and soft and golden. It’s a lull of a movie that he doesn’t want to end. It’s a current that must come from the equator because it’s warm and all around pleasant. The movie reel of memories first picks up after he had returned to Bucky with his hopefully _ not _ rut-scent infused blankets, his own cheeks had mercifully not flushed even though he’d done the less-violent equivalent of punching a hole into the wall out of frustration with these blankets. Essentially screaming into a blanket. It isn’t the proudest thing he’s done. But it apparently did the trick if his memory serves him correctly. He might have felt pinpricks of alpha instincts but his little pep talk (and growl session) had done the trick, most of the time he just had passing thoughts that left like a breeze, he was able to bring Bucky the blankets and then sit with him and not sweat with the force of everything his hands itched to do. 

Anyway. Back to the pure retelling from the honey tinted reel. Bucky had actually  _ squeaked  _ when he’d set all them in his lap so it was well worth the possible mortification. 

The brunette had promptly wrapped himself up in two of the blankets, tucking them around his shoulders and covering his legs right along with his torso, and returned the third to him (he’d dropped it over both of their laps even though he knew Bucky was probably already sweating under the blankets he’d piled on himself), embarrassingly Steve’s inner alpha had been more than quelled by that sight.  _ Maybe it wasn’t just that, uhm, little moment of release. _ Such a pretty omega buried under two blankets that came all the way up to his neck and fell all the way to his feet and then some (in that moment he actually had  _ blessed  _ the height difference they have because that half a foot is more than enough to drown him in a blanket that wasn’t designed for his height). Plus the dark blue along with what could be seen of the bright red made his eyes pop, well, the blankets just exacerbated what his dark hair already does for him but still… 

The remote needed to be rescued from between them and under their blankets afterward. 

Once it was located though that was the last mishap of the night. Flicking through the available shows (Bucky had waited for him- the  _ sweetheart _ ) hadn’t been interesting until Bucky had scrolled enough to find his recommended section, then it had become much more than just mindless scrolling, immediately he had stared him down while grinning. A soft but also slightly crazed look in his eyes. He recalls asking him “what’s so funny?” because he hadn’t exactly been paying attention to what Bucky was looking and what he was also supposed to be looking at. And he also recalls Bucky’s stifled laugh and breathless reply of, “you live and breathe baking, huh?” Then Steve had torn his eyes from Bucky and studied the screen. 

Sure enough. The entire section had been plastered with a bunch of shows that were about food in some way. From tasting to judging to making. Cake decorating shows, cake making shows, restaurant improvement or rating shows, food competitions- the works. _ Huh. _ He wasn’t sure it’d ever been like that before but… maybe fate had decided to work in his favor for once?

He couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed, especially when the smaller, blanket laden man seemed to be so fucking thrilled by it. His eyes were brighter at the possibility of making fun of him than he’d seen all night. He shrugged, “guess so,” and in the peaceful calm of the morning Steve finds himself emulating exactly the easy smile he had worn the night before. Just a half smirk because he’s too comfortable to really even smile, he’s too melted and warm inside to do anything that requires so many muscles even if those muscles are in his face.  _ The Great British Bake Off  _ was what they ended up settling on and Steve is more than glad looking back. Between the soft smiles Bucky wore at different times and the quiet half-mocking comments of their accents, as well as particularly put-out looking eye rolls when Steve found some comment about some measurement or idea or criticism made its way to the tip of his tongue. It felt normal. It felt  _ good. _ It felt like there wasn’t anything going on beyond their little bubble inside his apartment. Peaceful and comforting. 

At some point they’d begun being openly vocal while the show was playing rather than just making under-the-breath remarks; a mix of more things like snarky comments that was just intended to make the other laugh, some actual criticism about their recipes or baking techniques, some questions from Bucky on if Steve’s ever made that or attempted. The whole works. Again, Steve knows just how it felt, how familiar, through the memories taking him over but it’s difficult to put into words. It’s more felt through taste and imagery, honeyed and tinted gold. The kind of way they describe Heaven to you as a child to get you into religion before they terrify you with descriptions of hell so you stay in that religion when you’re older- just, there’s no looming threat of taken joy. 

At another point beyond the comfort that weaved around them tighter than Bucky had first wrapped his blankets Steve had asked if Bucky wanted something to eat. Because apparently the only thing he knows how to do is give Bucky food. 

Bucky had agreed, saying something about how he could go for something to eat, and then shrugged when he asked for specificity, confessing that anything was good. He was pretty sure that there had to be something in his brain but he assumed with how they had gotten to that part of the night that he probably just didn’t want to get underfoot. He just wanted to drift. And Steve’s brain had run with that pliancy. If  _ anything  _ was good then he wouldn’t mind eating some of  _ everything,  _ right? (Resolutely he had ignored more of those bubbling urges to  _ feed the omega  _ that came from both his rational as well as his hindbrain this time. He knows he likes to feed people, especially the people he likes but… he had just pretended to not hear those thoughts.) So he’d flung off the blanket that was still resting on his lap with enough force that it had practically smothered Bucky, falling over his head to hop up to the kitchen. Then. Again he’d found himself fumbling as he often does around Bucky, near apologizing just for letting his blanket go wild after he did but when his fingers had scrambled over the soft surface and peeled it away from him, revealing the brunette’s joyful face, Steve’s heart had doubled it’s rhythm. Spontaneously jumping from a comfortable or even lazy walk to a dead sprint. 

Bucky had been giggling under the blanket. His hair was messed up. Not completely- static electricity was just playing with the ruffled waves and pulling it in all directions, making him look young and soft and achingly pretty. His eyes were closed at first and Steve thought his heart stopped just from that - falling over stiff in exhaustion from the exertion of it’s sprinting - but when those big, round, blue-grey eyes had opened all of the air in his body disappeared and all the blood drained. Having those big eyes staring up at him while he had both his hands on his shoulders, the culprit of the blanket cushioning his palms, was the closest he’s ever come to crumbling on the spot. The closest he’s come to just dying on the spot. Keeling over. The overwhelming beauty of the omega has always been  _ unreal  _ but even just remembering that sight has his breath leaving him again in the way that looking at the grand canyon does. That’s going to be the last thing he thinks of when he’s on his deathbed. That sight. 

His eyes and hair hadn’t just been all. No. No- his cheeks had also been flushed the loveliest shade of pink he’s ever laid eyes on, and his nose was scrunched up in a way that had him wanting to grab at his chest like one would when having a heart attack, the corners of his eyes were also crinkled. Every tiny bit of his face was full of ethereal beauty and every part of him had more of a black hole ripping open in Steve’s chest. It wasn’t entirely a bad black hole though- it’s just the only way he can even think to describe it. Every yearning he held for the other man had just expanded and blown out into a full galaxy and then looking at him when he looked like  _ that,  _ well, that had all of the galaxy pouring back into him. Collapsing in on itself and compancting into one body inside of him, sucking him in. 

Steve can still feel it this morning. He’s still hollow despite all of the mass contained within the black hole… most of it is little things he knows or thinks about Bucky.

The only reason he hadn’t also been tucked into the void made of paradise was because he forced himself to step away, he made himself smooth the blanket out over Bucky’s shoulders like that was what he was going to do the whole time while wishing he could touch him so easily without having a reason. Snacks. A quick meal for them because it was well past dinner time by that point but they had skipped dinner so they still deserve something. 

Food was as easy as it always is. 

He’d collected that junk food he’d stashed for nights and general times like right then, emptying it bag by bag until the counter was obscenely full. He hadn’t realized just how many bags of chips and crackers and things he’d squirreled away. Carting those things back to the coffee table in the living room look a couple trips and with every one made sure to look at Bucky as long as he could without feeling creepy. The last trip had him looking him the eyes when he told him he could open whatever he wanted and that it didn’t matter if he opened everything or just one thing- whatever he wanted. He’d made a joke out of his desperation to make him comfortable by winking outrageously (re: clearly not making it seem like he was attempting to come onto him) and offering, “you gotta help take some of this off of my hands.” The black hole in his chest had shrunk just a little when he nearly immediately heard the crinkling of a bag after tucking his tail and returning to the kitchen. While he made up something that wasn’t empty calories that would have them waking up hungry he pondered what Bucky had gone for first. He’s stupidly gone on this man. 

Basically all of the junk food he had laid out was salty or savory because he had bought it at a point where he assumed he’d be the one consuming it, not someone else, and Bucky tended to always gravitate towards sweet things when the opportunity arose (and if not sweet than sour which was frankly very endearing). Did he just reach for the first thing maybe? It’s not like it mattered. And it doesn’t. But… well, Steve would like to know everything he can about Bucky. He’d love to know what exactly his junk food preferences are and what he’ll go for when he’s got all of the options versus what he grabs when he has a limited selection. Any knowledge about Bucky should be treasured, squirreled away just like his bigger than he re-called junk food supply closet. 

However, food preferences aside for a palette that isn’t his own, the easiest thing to whip up had been sandwiches. Generally they’re a very easy food to make and if someone describes them as hard to make Steve might have to seriously question their skills. Unless they’ve got a missing limb or are an actual child or something. But… thinking of Bucky’s sweet tooth made him regretful that he didn’t have more sweet snack-y foods as opposed to savory. Yeah-  _ maybe he’d have a stock up on some more of that kind of food. _ Anyway. He had decided at that moment to remedy the situation by making them sweet sandwiches, which, when you haven’t got any idea of what that might entail, it sounds gross but they’re  _ not _ . They’re, like, naturally sweet. He’s not going to ruin a sandwich by pouring or even sprinkling sugar into it. 

The sweet sandwiches that he could make and planned to make were apple sandwiches, sweet in the terms that it’s got fruit in it and fruit has natural sugar. Hopefully it would do. 

Apple sandwiches have bread of course (that time it was some of the extra whole grain that he made for the shop), thinly sliced apples (usually he likes granny smith apples because the sour is wonderful with the bread but he knows Bucky’s sweet tooth is stronger than his love for sour- so, honeycrisp apples it is), thinly sliced cheddar cheese, and any type of condiments that you think would go. Personally, Steve likes the pairing of organic, whole-grain mustard the best though so that’s what he used. The mustard is kind of sour too. He hopes Bucky will enjoy it. 

Bucky had complimented his sandwiches the way he compliments all of his cooking or preparing or whatnot- like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. And he’d done the same with the snacks dominating the surface of the coffee table even though Steve had only bought those things. 

The next part of his own memories has his insides squirming and squeezing unpleasantly. His lip even wrinkles at his own past self briefly while he cringes. 

Steve is never one to judge what or how people eat. He doesn’t do that, or he at least never says it outloud and he tries his hardest to not even  _ think _ about it. He knows it’s off limits both because he does have the ability to empathize with people and whatever unconscious or conscious relationships they might have with food, that and because he knows what it can be like to have other people ridicule your habits so openly. It can hurt and it can be uncomfortable or frustrating even (although that might just be a  _ him _ thing). So he just doesn’t do it. It’s not his job to do that- it’s literally his job to feed people so, yeah. It’s not even just something he does for politeness or because of his profession, he… he didn’t always appear to be healthy, hell, he certainly wasn’t always healthy and there was a good while where he wasn’t even close to it, in fact he often either couldn’t stomach food or he could keep it down so when he did feel like eating he would get full super fast. Barely touching anything he had on his plate when there was a plateful of food to be eaten from. Plenty of people either assumed or straight up just accused him of having an eating disorder… so,  _ yeah _ , he gets it. That’s why he’s still, even and  _ especially _ in the light of the morning, cringing at himself for cataloging Bucky’s eating habits. A̶l̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶d̶ ̶r̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶t̶e̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶j̶u̶d̶g̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶s̶o̶n̶ ̶i̶s̶-̶ ̶b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶d̶ ̶o̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶e̶l̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶e̶a̶t̶s̶.O̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶s̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶s̶o̶n̶ ̶w̶h̶i̶c̶h̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶ _ t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ _ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶o̶m̶e̶g̶a̶s̶ ̶w̶h̶o̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶c̶h̶u̶n̶k̶i̶e̶r̶.

He pushes ahead even through the discomfort because he can’t stay away from Bucky. Even and especially in memory form. 

He’s now known Bucky long enough to know he eats the regular amount that you would expect for someone of his size, which is why it didn’t slip his mind when Bucky had been snacking  _ before  _ he had his sandwich and then  _ continued _ snacking as he ate it before intermittently snacking even after finishing it. It’s one thousand percent not that he’s  _ judging _ Bucky though. He’s not lying to himself at all when he can’t think of any thought he’d had after noticing the behavior. He’d just put it down as an observation in his mind. He’s not shaming him and he couldn’t dream of it. Bucky could put on a hundred pounds and Steve would still want everything to to do with a̶n̶d̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶. That’s not it though. Steve knows people often at their feelings (he doesn’t- probably as a result of how he grew up but that’s a hole to jump down and explore later) and he doesn’t care if that’s what Bucky’s doing.  _ Well. He does care.  _ He’s just not going to mention it. He didn’t last night and he’s not planning on it today. He’s going to watch to make sure Bucky’s not still eating his feelings in, like, three months because by that point he should deserve to at least be over her enough to enjoy his life and what he’s eating rather than being consumed by poor feelings. 

Bucky hadn’t snacked for the whole night though, halfway through the third hot chocolate Steve had made him he’d begun yawning. He had set his hot chocolate down because of it actually. It was the cutest thing Steve had ever seen, something in his brain had made the connection between Bucky and a bunny the second or third time he yawned. His cheeks were still flushed from the blankets as well as from the help of the hot chocolate and food, his hair was still the most perfect, adorable ruffled mess, and his eyes were basically completely closed most of the time. He still looked very small too, which didn’t fucking help. Steve would put up with the missing view of his eyes if it meant that he could openly stare at his sweet face, especially when he looked so comfortable that it was rubbing off on him and making him melt more into the couch. Maybe that was to blame on the time of night though. 

They had fallen asleep like that. Bucky wrapped in blankets and slowly leaning towards him like a building falling in slow motion, a leaning tower of Pisa as seen through many centuries long timelapse,  _ Great British Bake Off  _ playing in the background in a very ironic lullaby. He started sitting sort of sideways but over about ten minutes he’d fallen fully into leaning on Steve’s shoulder. And at first Steve had figured that he shouldn’t be letting it happen because he needed to be responsible in that moment (not that he was protecting Bucky in his emotional state or anything.. he just… he was--). Bucky’s emotional and coming out of a situation where he slept next to someone  _ every night _ . Of course that situation would happen. Bucky doesn’t want to use  _ him _ as a pillow per-say, he just wants to use  _ someone _ as a pillow. He had gotten about a third of the way through pulling away before he heard it. 

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped. 

It being a whimper. 

Bucky had whimpered. Steve was so shocked by the helpless little noise that he had kept pulling away even as the noise continued. Sleepy Bucky did NOT like that. He whimpered so much louder immediately and Steve had thought he’d woken up for a moment, but with the way he clung on, weak and half-thought out, it became clear that he was. He had pushed his face harder against his arm and it wasn’t like the first tiny noise didn’t shatter his already wrecked heart so then he couldn’t do anything but stay after that. Steve stayed put. Hell, he’d more than stayed put, it wasn’t like it was a chore or anything. He’d helped a mostly not-conscious Bucky unfold his legs and situate them over his own lap while keeping his head where it had fallen. Kinda like the way you fall asleep against someone when you’re in a super long car ride with them or something. 

He’s still there now. As is he himself. Not in a car with Bucky but, just, he’s still leaning against him and Steve’s still leaning back against the couch. 

They’re both in the exact positions that they fell asleep in and Steve isn’t sure frankly how that could happen. He’s pretty sure he’s never once gone a whole night without shifting in some way, it’s impossible for him, but here he is. Bucky’s made the impossible happen, he’s made him sit still for over an hour and it feels like he imagines taking Xanax must feel like. Boneless and melted. Warmed with a cozy Bucky still wrapped up in blankets who’s got a curtain of hair over his face. Hair that’s now much curlier than it was when they went to bed. 

Steve lets his head drop back against the top of the sofa like it weighs more than it does, smiling stupidly at the ceiling. He figured Bucky’s hair might go curly without styling, all the comments he’s made about it, complaints really, had led him to assume… but as he steals a glance over at him he ends up wiggling a little with over-pouring happiness because he was right. His hair is curly. It’s nowhere near as unruly or ugly looking as Bucky had told him it tends to be, it doesn’t look like it’s worth all the complaints he’s thrown at it. He looks heavenly. Every exhaled breath fans over Steve’s shoulder in a fashion that makes him glow even more, settling even more peace into his veins, some of his hair has fallen over his mouth and Steve feels his lips twitch as he watches it dance. The ends are even more curled than the rest,  _ maybe his hair gets super curly after getting wet? What would his hair look like right after he’s gotten out of the shower? Would it look a lot shorter because it’d be  _ that _ curly?  _

His fingers brush his hair from his face, revealing more of him to pour over. 

Just that little movement has all of his thoughts scattering like pigeons, his hair is silk,  _ literal silk _ , it’s so smooth and warm from the proximity to his face. It feels like some decadent fabric that he shouldn’t be allowed to touch because it’s simply that expensive. He tucks a good amount of the strands behind his ear and brushes the rest to settle further back. His skin is warm and smooth thanks to sleep- all of the lines he has normally are also missing. He’s prettier than anything when he’s awake and this is just a different kind of beauty, his face slack and trouble-free in his state of rest. His instincts urge him to keep looking and finding all of what makes this Bucky different from his awake counterpart while his normal mind tells him he’s being  _ very  _ creepy. 

His instincts win out. 

He can’t make himself move or look away. He’s completely in a trance and although he’s certainly trapped in aforementioned trance it doesn’t feel like a bad trap, he’s not being held down with ropes or chains or anything. It’s more like he’s trapped under a sheet of melted sugar or maybe like he’s the centerpiece in those impossibly colored but translucent lollipops. He can’t make himself wake up Bucky in the same way that he can’t make himself move. He barely has it in himself to keep breathing with the looming possibility of waking him up so there’s no way he’s going to move before he comes back to the regular world. Hopefully he’s having sweet dreams. And even though there’s plenty that he could be doing that’s not being a creep and watching his friend sleep, like: cleaning up the coffee table of their plates and mugs and food, he could go get his bedding from the washer and actually put in the the dryer so he’s got something to sleep on tonight, he could make them breakfast (something sweet), he could wash his dishes that are combination of last night and the week beforehand- he could do so much. 

But he can’t make himself move. 

It’s like having Bucky next to him like this makes him into a puppet without strings. They haven’t even been cut, they just never existed to begin with, or, more accurately Bucky must’ve used some of his magic to make them dematerialize. With this reaction in his mind he can’t imagine how affected he’d be by getting to have Bucky in his arms intentionally if he’s rendered  _ this _ useless by having Bucky’s head on his shoulder. His legs in his lap. 

Steve’s heart kickstarts into a rhythm that makes his ribs hurt. He jolts forward a little with the force of his heart beating brutally against his chest. He knows that his eyes probably bug out of their sockets too, he can’t feel that through the rush of adrenaline kicking into his system, the fear suddenly entering his body and-

Oh. 

Heat spreads through his cheeks and neck as he takes in the scene around him. His  _ protect  _ instincts keep firing at full force even though he can easily see that Bucky’s just half fallen in his process of either dreaming or waking up. At least his immediate fear response has faded- although, those are probably deeply connected come to think of it. Usually he doesn’t startle so easily so it must be the fact that he’s been wrapped up in Bucky’s omega scent all night, making his instinct run amuck. Bucky’s got one of his arms hooked around his shoulder, his fingers sinking as far into his muscle as he can make them, like he couldn’t get it around his neck like normally one would position themselves in a situation where they need steadying and had just fought to hold on with the object closest instead. Steve gets a relieved chuckle out when he takes in the sight of Bucky’s legs, one of them has migrated off his lap and the other is on it’s way to being in the same situation. The hand that’s not digging into him like a cat’s claws is on the floor. Holding him in a very precarious situation. 

Bucky looks like a scared and embarrassed kitten. 

He’s cute. It’s cute. This is just cute. 

He allows himself to keep chuckling to let Bucky know that it’s okay, that this is okay, while also leaning forward after slipping his hand up to his neck, grabbing his other arm and hauling him up so they’re back into the first (and only) position they’d been in. Bucky squeaks. Clinging on to him yet again- this time being a lot more lucid while doing so and laughing as they settle. It kinda feels like it’s his fault seeing as he woke up earlier and slumped back further into the sofa crease but Steve doesn't let that show, he just keeps laughing and smiling and relishing in the fact that this has happened at all. 

It’s a good sign when Bucky not only keeps laughing with him well after they’ve gotten back to safety but that he also doesn’t pull away in the way that he was expecting him to. Not that Bucky isn’t a tactile person, last night’s inquiry for a hug should be more than enough to prove that, but it’s more that he’s expecting him to be thinking of his new situation and about how awkward he might feel about curling around him as he fell asleep. He’s pressed to his side excessively, his arm is still around the back of his neck and his other is flung out to the opposite side of the couch meaning that his entire side is available to be pressed against his. And his legs are still in his lap. 

Once he can intake a full couple of breaths Steve manages to throw out the probe of, “whaddya want for breakfast?” Bucky grins, shy and wonderful as he gestures lazily to the table in front of them. Steve pulls one of his eyebrows up, looking silently at the omega draped over him. 

“What?” He pouts and  _ god  _ is he cute. 

Steve huffs, putting more sass into his words than what he really feels, “you can’t have stuff like  _ that  _ for breakfast. Breakfast is literally the best thing. Ever.” Bucky giggles so more, shaking his head and retracting his arms to his body to cup his sides. He’s still unbearably cute. His lips snap shut as he prepares more words, picking at the little amount of malleable brain power he has left to construct a proper sentence, he hadn’t realized his mouth had fallen open at all. Huh. “Okay, new plan, you go shower,” Bucky doesn’t seem opposed to that idea, or his face doesn’t change to tell him that, so he continues, “and I’ll make us an actual breakfast. Deal?” 

“Don’t think you can ask if it’s a deal or not when you’re going to be doing all of the work but I’m not complaining,” he sounds like an argumentative toddler. Again; cute. 

Steve does his best impression of the stereotypical father, grumpily folding his arms and spitting out, “my house. My rules.” Bucky tries and fails to contain his laughter as his face crumples and his hands shoot up to hide his face. His shoulder shimmy with his amusement and he sways forward. Steve’s hands itch to reach out and steady him as well as to get to laugh with him- to be able to  _ feel  _ his laughter and not just watch with awe from afar. “For real though, Bucky, it’s not work if you enjoy it, right? I think I’ll be fine, c’mon.” He untangles himself from Bucky’s legs and from their blankets, jerking his head toward the hall that leads to the bathroom. He knows Bucky likes to look good, it’s something he had confessed to with bright cheeks early on in their friendship, and he likes to bake so it’s a win-win. Bucky gets up. Although he has much more difficulty with unraveling himself from his cocoon- stripping himself from the patriotic colored blankets and actually having to fight his way from the couch with it. 

They walk down the hall and they get approximately half way down before Steve realizes his mistake. The only way to get into the bathroom is to go through the bathroom. 

_ He’s going to have to walk Bucky through his bedroom to show him the shower. _

His bedroom. Which he’s spent approximately the last week filling with the smell of his rut and had just started to clean out, meaning his bed is just a bare mattress currently... that will be fun to explain. Dear god- hopefully his mattress doesn’t smell like rut. He has had it for a long time and… ugh. He’s a terrible liar. He’s going to have to walk Bucky through a space that is haunted with the spirits of all his PG and R rated fantasies. All of which revolve around the omega. Him. He’s fucked. Royally fucked. He’s also going to have to give Bucky a towel for after his shower and… god. He’s even had  _ thoughts  _ about giving Bucky towels, especially when he’s in heat and leaking and he gets to tease him about being so messy for him. 

Jesus. 

Internally berating himself doesn’t feel like enough punishment for thinking about him in that light when he’s right there so Steve just steels himself. Trying to not think about it at all so he can think about it later when he can come up with some kinda plan for his own correction. Because. Seriously? When Bucky’s  _ right here,  _ right next to him, he’s going to have one stupid thought that makes him pop a-

Oh. Oh fuck. 

He’s just woke up (with Bucky next to him, his internal monologue reminds him helpfully) and he hasn’t put on his scent-blocker deodorant or any serum. He sweats at night too, even if it didn’t naturally wear off after a while he’d be in trouble because of the fact that he runs hot, it would be useless at this point even if he didn’t sweat it off. Vulnerability crawls up his spine and the back of his neck to sit on his shoulder like a little angel or devil might. Normally he wears the deodorant because one, most alpha’s tend to and it’s basically just good social  etiquette by this point, two, he doesn’t think he smells that good for an alpha anyway and it removes lots of awkward situations where his smell increases for whatever reason and three, he smells  _ strong.  _ Even for an alpha; like, he reeks of pheromones. Even before he hit his second puberty and discovered his designation his ma made him wear deodorant and she was a beta… so, yeah. He smells. 

Meaning that as they reach the entrance to his bedroom if Bucky isn’t being berated by his rut smell he’s certainly picking up a good fucking wiff of his arousal that’s radiating off of him. Nothing would be better than a punch to the face currently although it would be preferred if he got to deal that punch to himself, from himself. 

Bucky’s then laughing at him.

Or- well, he’s laughing at fucking something and he’s such a mess that it might as well be at him even though he knows Bucky would never laugh at anyone. Even if he deserves it for being such a fucking mess, Bucky wouldn’t laugh at him. Even if he’s such a mess that a little humiliation of being laughed at would honestly be a favor for him. Even then. He wouldn’t-

“Why don’t you have sheets on your bed? I didn’t think this was  _ that  _ much of a bachelor pad.” 

Ah. Yes. Yeah- yeah, he can deal with that. 

“Uhh, laundry day,” he rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, he’s not lying to him, he’s just, just not telling him the complete truth. It was time that he should’ve been doing laundry anyway. Bucky apparently can’t tell that he’s sort of lying though because at least the choking sound that accidentally falls out of his mouth sounds like some sort of laughter. 

“Oh.” Bucky blinks at him, his mouth sort of statically open while a tiny little smile tugs at his lips. 

“You didn’t interrupt if that’s what you’re thinking about,” Steve moves past the moment quickly, literally walking through the words hanging in the air, he won’t be able to handle it if Bucky feels the need to question him more thoroughly. And it’s true besides that fact. Bucky didn’t intrude, even if the situation hadn’t been dire he still wouldn’t have been in the way. He wouldn’t have sent him away. He could never be a nuisance. “Like everybody says, I need to work less, and I’ll be sure to credit you if not doing my laundry the second I figured it needed to be done is the start of that.” He breezes into the bathroom not exactly waiting for Bucky to follow as he walks forward. His bathroom is honestly the best part of this apartment except for the kitchen of course because that was the real reason he pulled the trigger on renting this place. The kitchen is at least an entire third of the square footage of the apartment. Bucky whistles. He spins too so Steve uselessly points out the obvious amenities, shampoo, soap, body wash, how to get the water hot, where the towels are, and so on. He ignores the tugging at his heart when he thinks of Bucky’s scent being influenced by his own products and instead focuses on seeing the bathroom through new eyes. Remarking the high ceiling, the purely white tiles, the equally white lighting, the glass shower stall that’s big enough to fit him inside of it (a shock to him when he was wandering around the place for the first time), and of course Bucky who’s standing in his bathroom. As good as a bath can be he’s glad that this place just had a shower stall and not an attached shower and tub because those are useless for him seeing as he’s too big to fit in most tubs and if he can he has to be folded up. His knees either have to be folded, his back has to but straight up against the back wall, or he’s got to have his feet sticking out. It doesn’t work. 

“Holler if you need anything, ‘kay?” Bucky turns, his mouth open again in that way that it always seems to be when he’s not thinking about what he looks like - which, like everything else he does, is very cute - and nods. Steve nods back and stands still for an embarrassingly long time before remembering that, hey, he needs to get out of the bathroom so he can shower. He covers his tracks by bumbling over the words, “also, if it wasn’t, y’know, clear? You can use anything in here,” he thumbs towards the shower caddy that holds his products and again, he  _ doesn’t  _ think about the fact that Bucky’s going to smell more like him after he uses them. 

Bucky nods and looks at him with something filling his eyes that threatens to bring Steve to his knees in front of him, “yeah, thank you.”

Steve makes his escape towards the door on wobbly legs, his nostrils being invaded with his own scent, longing weeping directly into his natural alpha-musk. He needs to use that extra scent-blocking serum that he hasn’t opened yet but has stashed away in his bedside drawer, yeah, that’s what he’ll do. Then he’ll start the sheets in the dryer and after that he’ll start on breakfast.  _ Breakfast.  _ Yeah. Yeah, he can- he can focus on that instead… Bucky likes sweet things, they’re his favorite, but he also likes sour, although-  _ Her _ favorite flavor was sour so maybe… maybe not sour right now? Maybe also not chocolate then. Bucky always bought her chocolate things and-

Oh. 

Steve fumbles with the drawer, taking out the little bottle of liquid condensed scent blockers he wears instead of cologne (this particular brand calls it a “serum” so that’s what he’s taken to calling it over the years too),  _ what if the reason he never met  _ her  _ was because every time Bucky came into the shop he was trying to cheer her up like that first time? What if she was always upset and… and Bucky never knew why until last night? Did she ever surprise him with sweet things like that?  _

His thoughts collide and either bounce off of each other or shatter while he rolls on the serum, mechanically drawing it down the sides of his neck, down along his wrists, and just under the waistband of his pants and underwear. Then, just in case, he also pulls it over his armpits since his only deodorant is in the bathroom with Bucky. The difference between the serum and his deodorant is that the deodorant has an added fragrance, some dark and almost forest-like smelling scent that’s just a nicer version of his own scent. The serum just smells kind of… blank. Hopefully Bucky won’t notice his absence of scent.  _ Maybe he’ll enjoy it more than the suffocating amount of pheromones that you were spreading all over before _ , a mean voice whispers from the back of his skull. 

He shakes his head of those thoughts and ends right back up with those saddening thoughts about Bucky’s previous relationship. His lips tug towards the ground. 

Quiet sounds begin to come from the shut bathroom as he finishes applying the liquid scent blocker and slides it back into its place. Steve stiffens. Trying to identify what those sounds actually are even as his logical brain tells him to just  _ get the fuck out of here and not piss an even bigger mess.  _

Within the couple of seconds that it takes him to get to the doorway his stupid brain identifies the sounds anyway. The soft, barely audible sounds that vary greatly in volume and type of sound are from Bucky’s clothes. Bucky’s clothes hitting his bathroom floor. Steve sucks in a breath so sharp that he impulsively grabs the doorframe, his fingers digging into the unforgiving words as his learned-instincts warn him of an oncoming asthma attack even though the last time he had one was when he was fifteen… Jesus. Thirteen years ago and he still remembers every fucking second of what those felt like. He needs to leave Bucky alone. 

He makes it all the way to the laundry room before his brain teases him like a dog on a treadmill that has a treat on a string just out of reach, images of Bucky’s pretty, pretty bare skin dance through his head. He’s got to be beautiful. Steve knows he’s skinnier than he looks from last night, phantom feelings of his spine and ribs sprout up into his palms and fingers, but even that fact doesn’t stop him from picturing him. He would love to see him.  _ You love to feed him too,  _ his hindbrain whispers and all Steve can do is crumple against the dryer, his body growing useless as easily as ever when imagined memories of getting to have the angelic omega in his lap surface. This time though he’s not imaging the body type he would love to see on the omega or the body type he assumed he had; this time he’s thinking about the body type he has and he’s thinking about that smart tongue flicking over his fingers as he feeds him handmade treats. Steve presses himself harder against the unforgiving frame of the dryer and tries to be surprised about the erection he’s suddenly struggling with. 

A low growl crawls out from between his gritted teeth and shut lips when a slew of images curl around his stupid fucking brain all of them bleeding together into one long time-lapse of getting to do that, to feed his omega, day in and day out and then watching as he gets healthier. Curvier. Then there’d be more of him to grab onto. More of him to worship and pet and hold. More of him to keep a pup safe inside his gorgeous body. A groan is ripped from him at that and even though it doesn’t feel great with the metal of the dryer pressing into his cock, he grinds forward, he wants to see Bucky soft and heavy and ready to carry his pups. He does. So much that his mouth is watering. 

His lips are also trembling. 

What feels like invisible mold crawls over his skin, sending troops full of soldiers down his body from his head to ensure that every inch of him grows cold. He wants to dump a fucking bucket of freezing water over himself to stop himself, his hands are shaking with his own self-inflicted frustration as they cover his face. The touch is as close as he’ll get to a reprimand today.  _ He should be able to control himself! _ Sure, his body only knows that he’s been spending months upon months with the same omega who’s more than the perfect mate for him but he should be able to fight those feelings. His instincts shouldn’t be driving the timing of his rut forward in order to mate the omega in question just because he’s been smelling Bucky’s mouth-watering, unbelievable scent… that’s never happened to him before. He grew up with mostly omega’s as friends because he was so scrawny and everyone figured he’d be an omega anyway and even after he presented and hit his growth spurt that was how it was. Still. (Most of those omega’s hung around though because they wanted to  _ get to know him,  _ but, if anything that should’ve triggered his rut right? Not this.) 

He shouldn’t be fantasizing about something he can never have. Hell, he shakes his head hard enough that his neck aches with the movement, he shouldn’t be thinking of Bucky as a  _ thing  _ he can or can’t have. He shouldn’t-

Shame puppets his body. 

He opens the dryer. He moves his bedding from the washer to the dryer even though they’re basically already dry after having sat in the machine overnight- at this point he just wants the normalcy he’s pretty sure, pulling his duvet out first which is intertwined with his fitted sheet, then his flat sheet, then his pillow cases. He puts them all into the dryer, stuffing them down with more force than strictly necessary. He shuts the dryer, bending over and hanging his head as he does, tapping his forehead to the cool surface twice. Steve takes a moment to collect himself, willing his stubborn erection away and mentally telling off his knot for throbbing. Thinking about what he’s going to do about the swells of imagined pleasures storming through his brain when there’s not even still  _ those  _ kinds of thoughts still in his head. 

He straightens up, listening to the pull of his back muscles that order him to get back to his usual posture. He cracks his neck while he’s at it. And he certainly doesn’t think about that hazy, hazy memory he’s got that has both of his parents in it- the voices that sounded like they were coming in through cotton that had been packed into his ears from a bare bones apartment that looked like it was covered in fine cotton and dust. Mating encephalitis… it’s such an old phenomenon that it’s scientifically not even correctly named anymore. Encephalitis is a type of inflammation of the brain usually caused by an infection, mating encephalitis should technically be classified as a mental illness- or, it would be if it… if it was  _ normal.  _

It’s so rare that the only reason he remembers it, and knows what it is, is because he can recall that weird memory of his ma coming home to the undefined, shadowy figure of a father that he never actually knew and hearing her crying for the first time. Telling him about how scared she was with something. Something that had happened at work… she was a nurse for her entire career and the beginning as well as the end of it was spent helping patients that needed critical care. Steve never asked for the whole story from her because he wasn’t sure if she thought he could recall that or if it would be a bad idea to bring it up to her. 

He’d done research in his late teen years because he randomly unlocked that memory and… yeah. Mating encephalitis was thought to be a literal infection of whatever chemicals they used to believe controlled the hindbrain in alphas and omegas. With modern science it’s basically as rare as someone dying from a broken heart, not that it’s been seen that humans can die from it, it’s just practically impossible. Now it’s so rare and nearly eradicated in the general population that it doesn’t have an informal name, during the height of it’s recorded existence, when soldiers were coming home from WW2, the common vernacular’s nickname was Mating Sickness. Mating Sickness sounds better because it’s less fucking scary. Most people apparently don’t even have to ability to “contract” it because it’s a recessive impulse or whatever- for someone to latch onto someone else who they see as a perfect bond mate and then not bond with them or begin courting them… it sends their hormones and hindbrain into a frenzy… 

Steve doesn’t know how to  _ cure  _ it, or if it can even be cured or not. Well. Old science just forced the sufferer to confront the other party and bond or at least sleep together once but- Steve shivers. He’s not going to do  _ that.  _ He’s- he’s… he’s going to make breakfast and think about this when Bucky’s not in his apartment. 

Breakfast will help. Breakfast will give him back some common sense and will give him better reasoning- breakfast that’s not got sour things or chocolate things in it. Breakfast that is new to Bucky because he doesn’t want to make Bucky feel bad or feel confused because the food has other attached memories. 

The word  _ breakfast  _ is echoing through his head the whole way to the kitchen and he continues the mantra even once he’s there, mouthing the word until it’s no longer a word. Just a sound that’s got comfort attached to it for whatever reason. Letting his subconscious decide what he’s going to make because - with the exception of the things he thinks about Bucky subconsciously - it always seems to make better decisions than him, especially when he’s stressed. Letting his hands do whatever they need to. 

He only starts really thinking again when his hands have collected all of the ingredients and have splayed them all over his sparkly clean countertops. He’s not thinking about Bucky when he starts thinking again. What he does think about is the butter, sugar, salt, ground cinnamon, milk, yeast, egg, flour, oil, confectioners sugar, and berries placed over the counter along with a handful of measuring cups and spoons and bowls. Putting it all together is simple. It would seem complex but it’s not. Springtime Beignets and Berries are the fun kind of pastry that looks extremely complex but aren’t. Not really. A party trick kind of pastry. The only other thing that he doesn’t have out for them is the warm water he’ll need, but that comes later, as does the whipped cream for topping. He’ll use the stuff that he made the other day for that part of it. The toughest part will be waiting for the dough to proof, but, if he does it in the oven instead of in the fridge it’ll only take thirty minutes instead of four or so hours… easy. 

Steve pretends not to hear Bucky padding into the living room and rustling through his bags, going from one to the other when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he keeps forming the pastry dough into vague loaf shapes instead as Bucky continues looking for whatever he needs and apparently struggling to find it.  _ Maybe he left in a hurry. _ It’s only been a little while since he’s gotten out of the shower if his internal clock is still intact despite everything else that’s happening. He’d taken a little longer in the shower than Steve had initially expected but it’s not like that’s a hardship. What will be a hardship will be sitting across from him now that he’s figured out why he’s an actual  _ fool _ for this fucking omega. He cares so mother-fucking much about this man that he doesn’t care at all if he drives up his water bill or not, hell, he could leave it running and flood his bathroom and he wouldn’t care so long as he had a good, well, more like a decent enough reason for doing it… or even if he didn’t. 

He pretends not to hear him though. 

Because if he doesn’t hear him he doesn’t need to turn around in order to check in on him. Not that he can’t take care of himself or anything, it’s just… he’s pretty sure based on the time taken between the water’s shutting off and his reappearance that he hasn’t gotten time to dress himself just yet and he cannot deal with that. He can’t ration with the mental imagery of that and he certainly wouldn’t be able to handle any of the real imagery. No way. Not just Bucky wrapped in a towel that’s probably much too big for him because of the differences in their bodies.

The second he hears the bathroom door shut with strained ears Steve sighs, whimpering a little under his breath when all those repressed images bubble up to his mind's eye in an unstoppable tsunami, washing away the scenery of the kitchen and replacing it with the bathroom- complete with steam to set the mood that Steve wants more than anything. He’s sure in the real world he’s making some embarrassing noises and that his cock must harden up dizzyingly fast but submerging himself into his vivid imagination just gleens Bucky’s noises, not his. Little sighs and moans and gasps as Steve’s allowed to grope him all over. Allowed to touch all of that mystifying skin that seems to glow when he talks about his work or when he gushes about some cute dog he saw. He wants to dig his fingers into every part of him that he can reach without separating their water-warmed bodies, enjoying the rivlets of water and sweat dripping down his soft skin. Telling him through whispers that it’s not worth drying off because they’re just going to get dirty again very soon. His phantom fingers would trail down Bucky’s prettily sloped back. Slick sliding between Bucky’s cheeks that he can tease with the tips of his fingers as Steve slots his hips against him,  _ feeling _ it on his cock and  _ hearing  _ it in the breathless gasp that’s punctuated with the sweet deepened arch of Bucky’s back, the omega’s hands coming up to grab at his shoulders and neck as he deals with how much he’s feeling. How much more he’s preparing to feel. How good he feels at Steve’s hands. 

Steve would turn him around when he could feel him shaking with need, barely contained, and when he was begging for more, thinking that he wouldn’t be able to take anymore teasing. Not a second before. When he did though…  _ when he did,  _ dear lord, it would be the sweetest fucking reward. To turn Bucky around and see the wrecked, slackened expression spilled over his features like he’s reached rapture as he does it. Then he’d grab even harder at Bucky’s ass and hips and his thighs and he’d bend him easily over because he knows Bucky would live to be taken that way. Then he’d shove his hands against the wall so he could take him apart until Bucky started screaming or going silent with his jaw fully lax, hanging open, seeing god behind his squeezed shut eyelids. Fucking into him until he could see that slim stomach bulge out with his cum. Then he’d kiss him and ask him if he wanted more. If he wanted to get bigger and fuller for him. Bucky would mewl. Bucky would tell him yes,  _ yes, please,  _ and he’d wiggle his hips, begging him for another knot while he’s still locked inside him. 

Steve, in the real world, nearly collapses when his fantasy Bucky nods and grapples at him tighter - desperately - when he doesn’t do anything about his begging, brokenly mewling for his alpha to fill him fuller, to  _ fuck  _ him fuller. Steve’s fingers dig into the counter like they would into his sides and belly, stroking and pinching him as he felt his cum make him swell. 

_ How much weight could he gain before he wouldn’t have a bloated stomach from just one load? One knot? _

The growl that permeates through the kitchen has his cheeks and ears and neck catching on  _ fire  _ the second it processes through his own ears _ ,  _ he’s never- he’s never growled like  _ that  _ before. Not even when his first boyfriend (the first person he shared a rut with) tried to get up out of their bed (really by that point it was a nest but hush) so he could change the sheets when they had both been in season. And his hindbrain had fucking hated that idea. Stripping their den of their smell when he hadn’t yet fucked his omega’s heat out of him.  _ They weren’t done yet. _ And all he could do was growl and pull him back into bed- after the moment passed as did the shock they’d broken out into laughter together because neither of them had assumed his alpha instincts would get so completely upset by that. At the time Steve had thought he had been embarrassed… but it doesn’t hold a candle to the mortification pumping through him like adrenaline at literally growling at nothing but a fantasy. A fantasy that he’s never had any experience even close to. He’s never touched Bucky in any way that wasn’t friendly, he wouldn’t, he’s never-

He shakes his head and growls at himself, squishing one of the tiny loafs he’s shaping. Exhaling heavily and completely, feeling his body go fuzzy with oxygen deprivation as he holds off his chasing inhale until he’s reshaped the dough. His knot still throbs like a drum without oxygen. Without the distraction of breathing he can notice how swollen he feels, how close the onslaught of pure but bottled pleasure over nothing is to what it was like being a teenage boy who had also recently differentiated as an alpha. Popping wood and knots in his pants over fucking nothing. When he does inhale he picks up the tray at the same time, shaking minutely, placing the rows of dough into the oven that’s been useful unlike himself. He’s been growling over fantasies that make him so hard that his knot is half-inflated inside yesterday's jeans and he’s making a mess of his boxers. The oven has been preheating, y’know, doing what it’s supposed to be doing. 

“I’m done hogging your shower,” Bucky proclaims, sounding cheery enough - especially compared to last night - that it has Steve’s lips tugging into a smile despite where his mind has just been while he’s been  _ hogging  _ his shower. 

Steve hums, “it’s a good shower though, yeah?” And  _ really?  _ That’s all he’s got for small talk? 

Bucky hums back and he hears the little changes in pitches that mean he’s nodding, he focuses extra hard on the beignets he’s trying to form, pretending that he can’t or doesn’t notice the absolutely tiny detail that he just did. He’s invested in Bucky greatly, yes, but no friend that doesn’t want more than that would notice something like that. Nope. Bucky continues, oblivious to his turmoil and back-stabbing fucking cock, which has begun to rise in his pants, “it’s very roomy, like, I wasn’t expecting that from an apartment, y’know?” Steve breathes steadily but hopefully not noticeably enough that it becomes apparent that he’s doing such a thing because apparently Bucky doesn’t have his deodorant or his scent blockers with him and he doesn’t want him to think he’s trying to breathe in every whiff of his glorious scent. A scent that nearly knocked him onto his ass the first time they met. Now that scent has his knot throbbing as steadily as Bucky’s little hum. 

“Yeah,” shit. He sounds too gruff. He clears his throat, folding the square of dough in front of him using all the concentration he can spare, “yeah, that’s the second reason I said yes to this place.” 

“Mmh, that’s only the second reason?” 

Steve realizes only when his fingers droop mid-air as if they don’t understand what task to complete next that he’s out of squares, he’s folded all of the beignets and no longer has a reason to not look at Bucky. He holds his breath. Hoping that maybe if he’s not breathing in his undefinably sweet scent that he won’t be panting at him like a drooling puppy looks at their owner when they’re holding a treat. It doesn’t matter though because then Bucky’s footsteps are right there next to him and he can see his feet. He’s bare foot. 

Internally, Steve’s organs vibrate with the put-out groan that he lets loose,  _ how are even his feet and ankles attractive? _ Fucking fuck mating sickness. Also fuck himself but- well… no. Not like that. 

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is close enough to his ear now when he’s standing by his side like he is that Steve has no other choice but to look over at him in order to hide the full body shiver that partially takes over control of his muscles, skin, and the hairs on his body. 

“Yeah?” 

Bucky’s little ticked up smile melts some elusive part of him that wasn’t already fully taken with this fucking angel. He’s close enough that if he took just half of a shuffling step forward Steve would be able to brush his lips, he’d be able to kiss him. God he’s gorgeous. His skin is smooth and pretty, flushed just barely from standing in a bathroom full of steam for the past however-long-he-actually-took-to-shower. His hair has been towel dried even though Steve does own a blow dryer that he could’ve used. His hair is down still too and even though he doesn’t have ringlet curls or anything his hair is still curly enough to frame his face and make it look about three times thicker than it does when straight. Steve wants to tell him how nice it looks curly because he knows Bucky doesn’t think it looks good this way. It’s pretty and natural and  _ everything.  _ He’s got touches of stubble appearing, especially around his sweetly dimpled chin. His neck has been left exposed delicately with the draping of his oversized, charcoal-grey sweater, his shoulders and arms and hands are swamped by the fabric. And the only reason the rest of him isn’t similarly hidden by the seemingly shapeless, cozy garment is because he’s tucked the front hem of it into his pants. Pants that are black and grey where they’ve been worn-in more. The pants are also cuffed at the bottom and way, way too fucking tight for where Steve’s mind has been going. He ignores the pants and pays attention instead to the way his heart hardens and cracks when his mind steps up to the plate. 

Ah, yes. 

Yeah. That. He’s making things awkward now. Great. 

He waves a hand over the pastries, lined up as neat as he had the patience to do, “sorry,” and he throws in a stupid grin because he knows what he’s going to say is going to make Bucky laugh, “got lost for a second.” 

He does laugh. 

He also reaches out to curl his fingers over Steve’s bicep as he laughs, doing nothing more than steadying himself. It feels like he’s doing anything but steadying himself to Steve. He tries to laugh along with Bucky but he doesn’t know if it works, he’s too caught up in cataloging his laugh lines for the millionth time and mourning the loss of the sight that is his glittering, wide eyes. 

Bucky crumples enough with the force of his laughter that he ends up pressing his forehead to his shoulder. Steve now feels like the one who’s skin is glowing with his happiness. 

“You’re a dork.” 

Steve chokes on his laughter at Bucky’s simple statement, letting his palms slap the counter so he can keep himself standing. Happiness injects itself directly into his veins. Bucky’s puffs of amused breath continue to caress his shoulder and bicep through his thin t-shirt, setting off little fireworks of joy against the surface of his skin. They’re burning him with the purity of the emotions. He wouldn’t ever do anything to change the tinge of pain that comes with it. If his insides are nothing but one flimsy plastic cup that’s full of water then by now it’s overflowing and filling up the rest of his torso. 

“Okay,” Steve tames his wild laughter, “you really wanna know the first reason?” 

Bucky looks at him as he turns his body with an adorable and admirable amount of seriousness gracing his face, well, other than his eyes which are dazzling with the amount of bubbling mirth. He nods. And his mock seriousness is seriously contagious but it helps Steve so he doesn’t mind, really anything he can share between himself and Bucky is fantastic and worth treasuring. They’re looking at each other face to face now. Bucky’s hands are on his forearms and his own have found his, Steve deadpans, “the real reason I chose this place was because of the kitchen. It’s huge. I love it.” 

Giggles erupt with explosive intensity from Bucky’s curled, pink mouth. His shoulders crumple inward and his weight pulls on his arms as his knees buckle. Steve is torn between letting them both fall to the floor in laughter or keeping them safe and standing upright. All he does is howl with laughter along with him. He’s not even honestly sure what's funny about this to Bucky or why he’s laughing with him but he is. He is. And it’s the lightest he’s felt in years. 

He feels like he’s that careless, less than one hundred pounds when water-logged kid again. 

Bucky wants to help him prepare breakfast but quickly changes his mind when Steve tells him that really the only significant thing left that he has to do is fry the beignets in the pot of oil that’s burbling away on the stovetop. Packed full of awe for the very cute omega Steve taps his leg lightly with his foot, telling him that it’s probably the best job for him if he’s not going to be wearing socks- literally poking fun at him. Bucky pouts and tells him that only crazy people wear socks straight out of the shower because “no one wants damp socks on your damp feet that are probably wet and definitely already warm enough from the shower,” like it’s the most clear cut fucking thing in the world. Steve tells him that that’s fair. And it is. It’s also very cute, how opinionated he is, but he manages to not say that out loud. Instead he goes with directing him on where the plates are in addition to where the whipped cream and berries can be found in the fridge. 

While he’s getting a face full of heat from the boiling oil and hissing, cooking pastries Bucky sits himself down into one of the breakfast bar stools, done with his tasks, “what are you making anyway? Those look like half folded croissants but…“ Steve nearly chuckles aloud when he can hear the confused face that Bucky’s most certainly making, “fried? Are croissants fried? I assumed they were baked but, uhh. I guess I don’t know now that I’m thinking about it.”

Steve sets his chuckling free from his chest and throat, "croissants are baked, these aren’t usually folded like this but I like the way they look when they are, so-” he shrugs a shoulder, “these,” he lifts up one of the done pastries out of oil with his spider strainer so Bucky can see what they look like freshly done, “are beignets but with the sugar and berries they’re full name is springtime beignets and berries.” 

Bucky hums from the breakfast bar, propping his head up with his hands, watching intently. 

“Alright,” Steve places the plate of freshly sugared beignets and berries down on the counter between himself and Bucky, “want anything to drink with them?” 

“Water?” Steve finds himself looking over his shoulder at Bucky, already turning to find different, similarly suiting mugs for this morning. His head is tilted to the side, like a puppy, and he’s staring directly at the beignets rather than back at him. Jesus. This fucking sweet, endearing omega. He’s the dream. Literally. 

“Uhm,” Steve clears his throat, reaching for the first mug that he can see that he thinks Bucky will enjoy. This one is also space themed but not as directly as the NASA mug he gave him the way before. This one is black and has a white cutout of a person making a peace sign with their hand, the handle of it has the words “peace out” flowing down- the only space thing about it is on the bottom of the mug where there’s a cartoon alien face with an accompanying tiny hand folded into a peace sign. Peace out indeed. He doesn’t look at the one he’s grabbing for himself, “I’ve got water, I could find some coffee somewhere from Sam if I look, I bet, uhh, there’s milk, and I’ve got a shit ton of tea?” 

Bucky has stopped gazing at the plate of beignets like he’s in love with them and is now looking back at him, his mouth slightly agape, “what’s your recommendation, chef?” 

Steve snorts, “juice. If I had any. Juice is a good breakfast beverage but… water is the next best.” Bucky smiles privately, glancing back down to the surface of the bar, like he’s embarrassed that he’s proud of the fact that he’s chosen his pairing drink well. Cute, again, is the only word that floats easily to the forefront of his mind. It seems to be Bucky’s word.   
  


Not much talking happens while they consume the sugar coated pastries and accompanying whipped cream and berries. Steve made more than he normally would for two people and he didn’t think about why he did that. He just did. He must’ve accidentally mixed too much batter while  _ not  _ thinking about the angel disguised as a man sitting across from where he’s standing.

Bucky does comment on that, the fact that he’s standing up while eating. He shrugs and honestly tells him that he didn’t think of it, it’s how he normally eats breakfast he’s usually running late to get into the shop and if he’s not running late then he does it anyway. Bucky nods, knowing he’s absolutely awful at sitting still for long periods of time. He goes right back into munching on the pastries, complimenting him again and again as he does it. He seems more than content to eat his half and then what Steve can’t finish seeing as he normally doesn’t eat like this in mornings. Again, usually he’s late and just having a protein bar or shake or something just as easy and when he’s not doing that he’s not having something so sweet. 

Besides, he had pushed the plate and remaining beignets and berries over to him. Bucky’s polite. He probably just eats them because they taste good and he doesn’t want to say no to the offer. He eats them either way, making yet another comment about how good at baking he is and moaning just a little when he’s done with them. Steve doesn’t notice it or anything though. Steve also doesn’t pay any attention to the way the confectioners sugar sticks to the corners of his mouth. Nope. He doesn’t. Not at all. Especially not when Bucky catches the bits with his  _ tongue  _ when Steve motions to his own face with hands to point it out for him. 

Flopping down onto the couch next to Bucky feels much more monumental than it should be but the only thing he has to blame other than his stupid brain is the events from last night, his body is probably just thinking he’s going to be able to cuddle with him again. Stupid mating sickness. 

Bucky sips his tea loudly even though it's got to be too hot to be comfortable, looking up at him as he does it with a bit of pink staining his cheeks, Steve finds his eyebrows furrowing and a breathless little laugh coming out of him, “what?” 

“Nothing. You just seem…” Bucky trails off a little, steering his attention towards the coffee table to set his mug back down. Steve wonders if he has yet to notice the underside surprise of the mug or not. Bucky sits back, his back coming to kiss the couch as he settles himself in yet again, “a little, like,” one of his hands comes up to his forehead and flutters around by his head, down to his ear, “woo-woo? Y’know?” 

“Woo-woo, huh?” Steve challenges.

“Yeah, you’re thinking, loudly, I can fucking  _ hear _ it.” 

“Mmmh, when did you become a mind reader?” 

“Ha!” 

“Uhh, yeah, like you said, ‘m just thinking.” 

“What about?”

Bucky shifts to lean in closer to him, one of his legs bending as it gets swept onto the couch rather than hanging off to the side. Steve knows what he’s thinking about and he also doesn’t but he knows which thoughts he’s not going to share. Or he wasn’t going to until his stupid lips decide to form the word, “you.” 

Bucky’s face doesn’t do anything so if he’s shocked or confused (or disgusted) he’s keeping it hidden. Steve’s forearms crawl with ants, he taps his fingers on his leg to get rid of them, he doesn’t want Bucky to leave because he just doesn’t fucking want him to but he also doesn’t know if Bucky has anywhere else to go. He just wants to keep their bubble the pleasant bubble that it is. 

“How’re you doing? What are you gonna do?” He keeps his own escape open ended towards Bucky. Hopefully taking away any correct suspicions of how his words, well, word, sounded before. Bucky sighs and minutely leans closer and his fully natural, undisguised scent clouds with the acidic scent of worry and angst. Then it’s all Steve can do to stop himself from clapping a hand over Bucky’s mouth while he hushes him, telling him to forget about his upset and come back down into the good thing that they had going for themselves. It’s all he can do to not spill out enough apologies to pollute the air between them like an oil tanker to the ocean. 

“Better,” Bucky starts. Seeming more or less at a loss for words. Steve doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t know what he would say and he also doesn’t know if Bucky wants him to or not. He’s got the feeling that the brunette is trying to work himself up to something here. “I mean. I- I don’t think I’m all that upset because I knew  _ something _ was there. Uh. With her. I just didn’t know… I didn’t know it was what it was. I knew she was going tt-to, y’know, leave.” He sounds defeated again. It threatens to break Steve. “‘S why I have my stuff.” 

He doesn’t elaborate and it’s up to Steve to piece together the puzzle himself in the silence spreading between them like food coloring dropped in water. He has his stuff because he had his suspicions… he knew she was going to leave. Ah.  _ He had his bags pre-packed.  _

Bucky seems to understand when he understands, when the dots all connect into one line in his head. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” 

“Stay.” 

And  _ dammit _ . Again with the one fucking word thing. God, fuck. Steve keeps staring just over Bucky’s shoulders, he doesn’t want to know what’s on that super pretty, super expressive face for the moment, “stay with me until you find another place, yeah? I just washed my sheets and stuff so you can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” Bucky doesn’t say anything. “Besides, I was talking to my landlady the other day, we don’t have any vacant places but I guess a couple ‘a tendons moved out of the place across the street? I don’t-” Steve sneaks a glance from the living room wall to Bucky’s face. His mouth is open and he looks ready to argue so he continues rambling, “know that landlord but I guess ours does so I can get her up here today or tomorrow and she can talk to you to get you the other owners number or info and things. Maybe you can get a place over there… ‘cause, y’know it’s hard to get any good deal with living quarters up here. Maybe you’ll be able to just slide right in?” 

Bucky comes dangerously close to knocking him over with his hug but as Steve is sinking into the golden, warm sun rays of it Bucky mumbles, “you’re the best, but, I am  _ not  _ going to let you sleep on the couch in your own place.” Steve hears himself start laughing and shaking with it. Bucky joins and gasps out the words, “you’re too tall anyway,” between jagged strikes of giggles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so fucking long for me to write (it's over 13,000 words and for that I apologize lol), feel free to complain about that or say whatever you like in the comments. As always I live for that shit.  
> Also if you miss me (for some fucking reason) when I'm not posting on here, I have a tumblr now that I've been writing little drabbles and things on!  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/fandomfluffandfuck


	5. Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve watches Bucky change over the course of four months and finds something's within himself that have also changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have this little time-lapse of the next four months of their relationship because as much as I love slow burn this wasn't supposed to have gone on for this long lol (besides I know most of y'all are in it for the smut (THAT IS COMING I PROMISE (AND I'M SORRY))

Bucky gets approved for an apartment in the building across the street and it’s fantastic and awful. 

It’s awful because it means he’s no longer sleeping on Steve’s couch (he never could convince him to take the bed for at least one night and he also did bring up sleeping in the bed  _ together _ against his better morals but… Bucky’s too nice and too accommodating for his six foot four frame), he’s no longer the first person Steve sees in the morning and the last he sees at night. He no longer has an excuse to buy snacks that he knows Bucky likes (even if he doesn’t like them himself). It’s fantastic because it means Bucky has a place of his own though, that he can stop sleeping on someone else’s couch like he’s not a grown twenty-five year old man. And it’s not like it’s that far. He is literally only a street away and it’s not even like he’s on the next street, there’s just a single street separating their places. They’re even on the same floor creepily enough. 

Although just because Bucky has his own place it doesn’t mean that they stop seeing each other in the way that Steve had assumed it would. He’d presumed that once Bucky was a little bit more in control of his emotions that he would come to the realization of him having acted as a very creepy alpha wanting to do more than just comfort him as a friend. Apparently though he hasn’t or he has and has ignored it. Steve’s got no fucking idea. Partly that, not knowing how Bucky sees him now, if it’s just the same as before all this or not, and partly the fact that they seem to see each other more often than not is driving Steve crazy. Not crazy in a bad way per-say. Just crazy in that he’s too caught up in Bucky- he’s  _ more  _ caught up in Bucky than ever. And he’s well aware that he’s digging his own grave here by literally encouraging his body to make even stronger of a connection between  _ Bucky  _ and  _ mate.  _

But he can’t help himself. 

Bucky only stayed at his apartment for six days, the first two were spent between conversations with each other and conversations with Steve’s landlord and the other four were spent between work, talking to one another, and - for Steve - listening to Bucky speak to a number of people on the phone. Getting them to change his address or getting his bank’s approval or whatever needed to happen to get Bucky secured in his apartment. 

And, god, help him because the whole while that it had been happening Steve had been watching and intervening only with words or foods slash drinks for comfort. 

When Bucky had gotten off the phone with his bank, getting them to switch everything over on top of getting them to approve the monthly rent rate he’d be dealing with and a frustrated, deflated sigh had worked its way out of his attractive lips. Steve had handed him over two freshly made donuts under the guise that he needed someone to try his new recipe for mango jelly filled donuts. His sparkling glacier eyes had widened and he took them as easy as ever. Getting them down within ten minutes and only being able to sit and wait another ten before asking if they were going to be sold or not- which, Steve’s discovered, is just his achingly polite way of asking if he can have some more or not. Steve didn’t lie when he said they weren’t going to be sold. He had made them for Bucky. When the landlord from across the street, a nice but strangely stiff seeming beta, had come over to get Bucky to sign some things for him Steve had made Bucky another cup of hot chocolate to quell his nerves. He made Bucky’s new landlord some coffee so it wouldn’t look weird for him to just give Bucky a drink. Then it had only seemed natural to offer them some of the leftover sugar cookies he’d taken from the shop. Bucky had either four or five before he left. When Bucky had needed to call his previous landlord to let them know that he wasn’t going to be living there anymore he had been shaking with anxiety. So he’d given the trembling omega some pecan and orange muffins that were, according to Bucky, much fucking better than he thought they would be because in truth he had then really been trying a new thing. 

That little list went on and on and on. 

Steve wasn’t sure if it was his alpha instincts, his hindbrain, his normal brain, or that dark, little part of him that was into chunkier partners that kept making him hand over snacks and food and drinks and whatnot but most of him didn’t disagree with it. 

Sam had even come over that final night Bucky had stayed with him for an impromptu movie night and because why the hell not. He’d fed Sam the same way he’d been carelessly and carefully feeding Bucky and the beta had turned his head around like an owl from his perch on the sofa in order to send him a dubious, unimpressed look. Narrowing his dark eyes at the cutting board he had had in his hands at that moment and nodding sharply to the coffee table that was full of snack food. Steve immediately felt his skin catch on fire and his insides shrivel. He hadn’t… he hadn’t been doing anything intentionally but it suddenly felt like he had been. It felt like he was creeping and taking advantage of Bucky. Like he was forcing him to eat everything that he put in front of him.

That realization had been hard to get past… but apparently not hard enough. 

Because Bucky has been coming over basically nightly for an entire month regardless of what kind of day the other has had and Steve’s, uhm, Steve’s noticing some things. Not massive things. Just the kind of things that are probably all his fault. Like the way when Bucky’s not even chewing his handsome cheekbones seem to be a little softer, they’re still startlingly easy to spot because of his bone structure but Steve knows his face well enough to know that they haven’t always looked like  _ that.  _ It’s not bad. It’s fantastic, the extra hint of softness makes his cheeks look rounder and the little pocket of the last of any kind of baby fat resting under his chin fits perfectly with it. But there are other things too. Things like how when Bucky puts his hands down into his lap when he’s not eating something his hands aren’t in the same place that they used to sit. Like how his pants don’t have quite as much extra space. 

Steve isn’t sure when any of it happened. 

He’s not sure any of it has happened… his paranoia might just be putting things in front of his eyes that aren’t there. 

Steve’s subconscious is not playing tricks on him. It’s not. It’s only been two additional weeks since Steve noticed the little bit of fluff Bucky has put on top of his lean build but,  _ but,  _ Bucky had asked him yesterday if he would come shopping with him. Claiming that he needed something new to wear now that he was single and he hadn’t stopped for a moment to mention whether or not his pants felt tighter so Steve hadn’t asked. He hadn’t thought of asking because asking might possibly break the spell but also because he’s not that fucking brave. 

And now, here he is, sitting outside the men’s fitting rooms in one of the provided armchairs that are more cushion than actual structure. Steve is anything but bored, in fact he kind of wishes he was bored because a few minutes ago Bucky had thrown a pair of jeans over the top of the door and had grumbled about the fucking way they size omega branded clothing. He hadn’t asked but Steve had, “you want me to get you a different size, Buck?” Bucky had him get a size up. Steve had. And now he’s sitting here, wishing he was bored because being bored is a hell of a lot less humiliating than fighting the erection threatening to happen. Only after Bucky had lamented the way specifically omega clothing is sized had he placed what all the shuffling and quiet huffs had been. Bucky had been trying to wiggle his way into that first pair of jeans. 

How much had he struggled to put them on? Was he able to only get them up to his thighs before they didn’t go up anymore? His thighs did look like they had changed the most. Like they’d grown the most. Steve swallows the growl that festers in the back of his throat as pleasure spills it’s perverted way into his cock, had he been panting? Did he realize why they didn’t fit? If Bucky came out here and sat in his lap how would his legs feel wrapped around him? Another growl appears in his chest and this one actually makes it out of his mouth- Steve sits up stock still. Stiff. His eyes dart around the near vicinity searching for people who might’ve heard that. Hopefully, if any god out there is merciful, Bucky didn't hear. 

He sighs, relieved. Curling in on himself from his perfect posture when he’s able to verify that it’s only himself and the brunette. The omega who had claimed he needed new clothes but has so far only looked into bottoms. 

Steve bites his knuckles and hits himself in the forehead lightly with his other hand mumbling to himself, “fucking knot-head.” 

By the end of their excursion, Bucky ends up buying three new pairs of jeans and a single pair of jean shorts that Steve is going to  _ mourn  _ not having gotten the chance to see him in like he did with the jeans because they look like they’re high waisted and  _ short  _ and Steve wants to drool thinking about it. About him. About Bucky in those tight, light blue shorts that probably hug his thighs and ass and waist deliciously. They might even cut into him a little. They might emphasize the little plush that he’s got now. 

Steve is going to go to hell. 

Two more weeks pass - marking an entire two months since he’s broken up with  _ Her _ \- and Steve isn’t sure if it’s fair to Bucky to keep plying him with things that taste good when he seems entirely unaware of the change in his figure. Steve’s not sure if he’s being fair to  _ himself  _ to continue handing over sweets and snacks and drinks that have Bucky’s lips curling and falling open every time without fail. He’s torturing them both. He’s torturing Bucky because he’s sure with the standards set for omegas that he’ll be upset when he realizes that clothing brands aren’t to blame for his jeans being ill fitting. He’s torturing himself because every night or afternoon or whenever Bucky leaves his place he’s so hard that it’s embarrassing, even inside of an otherwise abandoned apartment. 

It’s been just two weeks. Just two. But Bucky seems to have put on some more weight. It’s not much, it’s barely anything at all really but on top of what else he’s already put on… it is noticeable. Just noticeable enough for Wanda to blush when asking him if he would like one or  _ two  _ of whatever he’s ordering when he comes into the shop after he gets off work in order to wait until Steve closes so that they can walk back together. It’s enough that one evening when Sam happens to be chatting with him over the counter in the shop and he follows Steve’s gaze out the door to where Bucky’s rounding the corner to come in he lowers his voice and leans in asking, serious and mocking, “what are you feeding him?” 

Sam then ends up barking out his laughter because of whatever look comes across his face, he slaps his shoulder over the display case and just proclaims, “I’m joking but the look on your face just then tells me I shouldn’t be.” Steve shrugs, he doesn’t know either honestly. He’s not sure what the hell is going on inside his head anymore. Not when Bucky takes up all of his thoughts on the surface meaning he hasn’t got a clue what’s going on deeper down. “Have you… I don’t know, talked about it?” Steve shakes his head feeling like a child called into the principal's office, suddenly falling mute, “ya’think he knows?” 

Steve sighs, taking the only moment they may have before he comes inside, “I’m not sure,” he says honestly. Sam nods, turning and flawlessly greeting Bucky like they were the ones who were friends first, going up to him and ushering him over claiming that Steve was just about to go back to working so they need to say hello quickly. Steve plays right along with it because what the hell else is he going to do? He’s got no idea what Sam has planned in those two fucking seconds. He trusts him though, smiling and greeting Bucky. Apologizing for not being able to chat even though he totally can- he uses the excuse of there not being anyone else around today. 

“You want something first though?” Steve realizes he’s only looking at Bucky and he mentally clears his throat, swiveling his head to spy his knowing stare and weakly adding, “it’s on the house for you guys.” 

Sam gives him one of his famous  _ I know everything that’s happening in your head and you don’t  _ looks but lets it slip when Bucky is standing right next to him, “I’ll have a sugar cookie,” he offers before deliberately swinging his head to the side to look at Bucky, “I’m not super good with sweets, you should get something that’ll make up for the price of two regular items.” Steve is lost on whatever game he’s playing here because it surely sounds like he’s encouraging the shitty thing he’s been doing right after he promised more or less to make Bucky realize what he’s doing so he can stop Steve. Steve metaphorically throws his hands up into the air. Surrendering to being swept up in Bucky’s arua and being forever confused by the goofy charisma that Sam has always possessed. 

Sam turns that charm on him again and it’s like suddenly being put on stage, thrust underneath a spotlight and being expected to not squint, “what was that thing you were telling me Wanda’s grand-whoever gave her that she gave to you and you made for her? The expensive looking shit,” he focuses that gap-tooth, grin straight on Bucky and layer it thickly with a wink, “‘cause we might as well get our  _ money’s  _ worth here.” Bucky grins back, big and unabashed. It’s a lovely, heart-stopping sight. 

“Uhh, the chocolate fudge cake recipe that she gave me that’s from like before world war two?” He offers, feeling like he’s choking on his words more than a little. 

“Yeah!” Sam brightens, “get him some a’ that shit, he looks like he can handle that amount of flavor.” Steve wants to let his jaw hinge fully open. He never once has heard Sam be that fucking subtle. Not once. Sam covers for him though by being his usual little shit self, “what what the actual name though? The super excessive one, I wanna hear you say it again.” 

“The, like, ultimate chocolate and fudge cake with fudge frosting? I, I think that’s what it says at least, Wanda's grand, or maybe it was her great-grandma, I don’t know. But the woman’s hand writing is beautiful and impossible to read.” Steve spits out, hoping and not hoping that Bucky will go for that. 

“How ‘bout it?” Sam reminds him. 

Bucky’s eyebrows come together, “sounds like it might blow my head off with how much flavor is in it.” 

Steve swallows and licks his lips, “it's... just a little rich.” 

Bucky shrugs with both of his shoulders and does something with his head that makes his chin double sweetly, “okay, it’s not like I’m gonna say no, I have yet to have anything you’ve made that isn’t good.” 

“Ah, just wait,” Sam jumps, “that comes later. Like in April.” 

“April?” Bucky parrots adorably. Steve takes that as his cue to slip into the back to find some of that cake from the refrigerated display case. 

“April fools day,” he hears Sam proclaim, proudly. 

There’s a spread of silence that has his shuffling around being the only thing that going on, echoing the quiet of the shop eerily, and he’s trying to discern at the same time that he’s trying to not drop the cake all over the floor what the hell is Sam’s plan here? He knows Sam is better than aiming a slight insult at the omega in order to get him to understand, for his own good, what Steve has incidentally done to him. But he also has no idea where he’s going to go with anything that he’s already said, unless-

“How’ve you been doing, Bucky? You look good.” 

Ah. That’s probably it. Tonal whiplash that’ll make Bucky probably overthink the comment and what’s sure to be more following comments later when he’s by himself. But… maybe it’s not too? Maybe it’s just what Steve has clocked because he’s looking for something from Sam. He really could just be checking up on him; he does know why Bucky was staying at his place for that week. 

“I-I’m good, what about you?” Steve can hear the blush bleeding into Bucky’s words, and even if he couldn’t he certainly would be picturing that pretty stain of pink with the obvious way he deflects the compliment. 

“I’m good too, but reeeally,” Sam drags out out his the word in that way that says he’ll be leaning over into your personal space in a second to elbow you or slap a hand over your shoulder, or, y’know, just straight up jab you in the side with a finger because he can. “How’ve you been, you gotten sick of being Steve’s taste-tester of choice yet?”  _ Oh. _ Okay.  _ There it is. _ His feet stall, he’s not sure what he should do now. He’s got the cake out, it’s balanced precariously in his hands, and he needs to cut a slice for Bucky but… he also shouldn't go out into the front to find a knife just yet. He’s not sure what else Sam is planning on saying or doing and he’d basically told him that he’ll take care of it, that he doesn’t need him interfering. 

Bucky doesn’t make a sound from what Steve can tell. One of the great downsides to eavesdropping. 

Sam pulls out a casual chuckle, “I had to start going to the gym more often because that man will just give you fucking pure sugar I swear, besides,” Sam pauses, probably for dramatic effect, “Nat loves my abs.”

“She just loves being able to have the excuse to spar with you.” Steve hears himself chirp- and when the hell did he walk out here anyway?

Sam grins lazily at him, “yeah, so? At least I can take her,” his grin spreads over his face until he looks a bit off centered, it has Steve smiling right back at the dark skinned beta, helpless to his charm. He nods at him and then at the cake, “glad you found that, we’re starving to death out here and I thought you might’ve gotten lost back there.” 

Once Steve stops chuckling and cuts the cake after grabbing Sam’s cookie Bucky and him sit at the table in the corner, Sam’s favorite spot as opposed to Bucky’s. Bucky’s place is usually the table that’s closest to the counter so he can chat to him in between customers or employees when they’re around. Today Steve doesn’t mind not being directly connected to Bucky. He just watches from afar, trying to discern if Bucky’s caught on to what Sam’s said or if Sam says anything else to him. If he does understand he apparently doesn’t mind seeing as he eats the entire slice of cake and has a third of Sam’s sugar cookie. 

When they say goodbye to the beta after he closes up and then Steve begins his walk with Bucky back to their part of the city Steve feels his phone vibrate after only a couple minutes- it’s a text from Sam.  _ I don’t think he’s eating his feelings but who knows, maybe he’s just hiding it?? Idk. He seems happy, man. He also doesn’t seem to be aware of anything being different… if I didn’t know any better I’d say he’s just interested in being your taste-tester _

Steve considers the text, but only briefly, he puts his phone away before Bucky can see the name or read the context of the message. The part that sticks out in his mind is the “ _ your  _ taste-tester” part… but he’s reading into it too far. He sure of that. 

Bucky still comes over to his apartment for dinner and snacks as per usual before going home to his own place. He eats as he’s begun to usually do. Steve can’t think about anything unpleasant when he’s around. So he doesn’t. He just watches Bucky in something close to amazement because he’s still a fucking angel while trying his hardest to not look like he’s doing what he is. 

Then, Bucky’s been single for three and a half, basically four months if you round up, and Steve is having an even harder time keeping his feelings and thoughts and impulsive, instinctive wants to himself. Bucky has continued to be his “taste-tester” as Sam keeps putting it and Steve has no idea how Bucky has not noticed. He doesn’t think he has. Even though Sam has made sweet and subtle comments about the weight he’s put on. Even though Wanda literally told him the other day, “love the new look, baby” when he came in. Even though Clint, who went on a two week vacation to his parents, gave him the most thorough up and down stare when he got back the other day. Even though Steve’s friends can’t be the only people noticing his changed silhouette, surely his co-workers have to have noticed too? Surely strangers that he comes across often have noticed- like, people in his building or strangers who surely check him out? Every time though, every time, Bucky either looks like the sweetest, most confused puppy or he just blushes and chuckles because the observation is hidden in a compliment. Most of the time to be true it’s a mix of the two but… well. Well- 

His new pants look tight (and god help him because they one thousand, million percent are the tightest around his upper thighs and ass and he  _ can’t) _ and even his super baggy tops can’t conceal the additional fluff (Bucky continually corrects him when he calls them “baggy” and not “ _ oversized”  _ but it also makes him smile so he’s really just encouraging him to continue to call them the ladder instead). His baggy tops usually don’t get tucked into his waistband now, they get tucked into his belt that he’s begun wearing. And they flow so gorgeously over his vaguely wider shoulders. When the angle’s right - when he’s stretching or reaching up to grab something mostly - they also cling and flow over his belly and hips and Steve has to look away when that happens because he acts like a piece of flimsy paper at that display, being torn directly between one hand that begs him to growl ferally and the other hand that tells him desperately to weep at such a sight. Such a pretty sight. Because,  _ fuck,  _ was Bucky too gorgeous for words before. Now he’s, he-he’s something that Steve can’t even hope to describe accurately. Especially considering if he were to try to describe him as he is currently. 

He’s had some super impressive and complex sounding project at work for the past week- Steve had listened but he’s still got no idea actually what it was that the brunette had accomplished, just that it clearly was impressive and important. Well, really, he’s had the assigned project for longer than the past week but the deadline for it was today, Friday, and so the stress has been adding up. Steve’s seen it and had tried to do something to sooth it away from the omega that wasn’t kissing the life out of him, cuddling him, or feeding him even more than he already was (Sam told him the other afternoon in jest when he stepped in during his lunch break that Bucky probably goes hungry at lunch without him there to hand him something that tastes way too good. Steve’s hindbrain had  _ run _ with that joke, unfortunately). But that’s beyond the point, the point is that he’s doing what he can do now by letting the breath-taking omega nap on his couch while he makes them dinner. Apparently he’s been having trouble sleeping because of that stress (he hasn’t been having trouble eating though, thankfully) but the younger man had still asked if he could come over anyway… Fridays are for movie nights for them. Either himself or the brunette will put something on that’ll be background sound for a while while dinner (with snacks) gets put together, today the background sound is only for Steve though, not that he minds, because Bucky has passed out. 

And a sleeping Bucky is beyond ethereal. 

A sleeping Bucky has permanently pinked cheeks because he loves being too warm under all the required blankets, occasionally fluttering eyelashes that are always devastating, a slight but completely lovely double chin (with even lovelier softened cheeks), messy hair that strikes something goo-y and soft inside his chest that always turns him to mush, and a sleeping Bucky makes the most sweet - practically candied - sounds that you have to be sleeping or sitting next to him to hear. Little half purrs and snuffled whimpers that barely make it out of his vaguely gaped mouth. His lips are distractingly pretty when he’s conscious of what they’re doing so when he’s not- and they’re gaped perfectly, creating the most little perfect arch… well. It’s just best if he  _ doesn’t  _ think of that at all. 

Today's sleeping Bucky is an even bigger blessing because today, well,  _ tonight _ rather he’s forgone the blankets because he’s so tired. He had just taken his shoes off at the entryway and crash landed on the couch immediately after. Steve practically had to carry him home (and if he had actually had to, he wouldn’t have dreamed of complaining). Starting upright and mostly, fully alspeep before shifting and worming his way down to take up most of the couch, curling his legs up to his chest loosely and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He’s the cutest fucking thing that Steve has ever seen and he keeps pausing his cooking in order to pop his head around the corner and look at him. To look him over. 

Tonight his protective instincts have lost to his own desire to look at all of him because as much as he wants Bucky to be warm and comfortable he also wants to be able to see the way he looks all curled up. His cheeks are soft and pretty - rounder than they were when they met - and his chin has doubled with the position he’s in, his face tucked down into his body, because even when he was slimmer he had a perfectly sharp and also  _ soft _ jawline. Then there’s the whole plus of not having his body obscured by a covering; this particular pair of jeans he’s got on are even more painted on than his typical pair, Steve can see the new fluff clinging to his thighs, hips, and stomach and it makes him ache with the want to touch him, to pet him and know the new softness he possesses. To know him. To be able to memorize all of him and make sure he’s always there to touch- within reach. He wants that. All of that. He wants the  _ visible proof _ that he’s more comfortable and better taken care of than he was before. He’s practically  _ feral  _ for it- that’s how bad he wants all of it. 

Today he’s also not in a sweater or thick long-sleeve shirt but just a sweatshirt, a sweatshirt that doesn’t have anything under it. A sweatshirt that’s risen up to show the sweetest little strip of skin. His hip that’s being cut into a bit by his waistband, the skin is the same pretty pale gold that the rest of his complexion is, and his hip looks like it’s got to be even softer than his cheeks. He’s just so pretty. So soft and… yeah. He’s never made that connection before but, _yeah, he’s comfortable enough that he’s gained weight._ He’s comfortable with himself and he’s comfortable with his ability to have life’s necessities. Comfortable enough to fill out and let his stomach swell slightly against his sweatshirt. It’s the _best_ curve Steve’s ever seen, he suddenly understands what other alphas have meant when they obsess over a female omegas “child bearing hips” in contrast to their tiny waists- he hadn’t understood how just a _curve_ could drive someone so crazy. But he’s looking at the pudge clinging to Bucky’s tummy and he doesn’t want to ever look away. Steve’s never seen a more mouth-watering sight, he’s also never seen such a domestically endearing sight. He’s sweet.

Steve’s regular thoughts slip down into his hindbrain thoughts so fast he can’t catch up to them. He can’t stop them. 

_He could easily have a pup with the new weight, before he was probably a little too slim, he’d not need to gain a truly ridiculous amount of baby weight to keep them both healthy. He’d be so good. He’d take such good care of his pups, their pups, with the soft layer covering him._ _But. But he could gain more, if he wanted to. Steve wouldn’t mind getting to measure his hips and chest right along with his swelling belly. Getting to look at pictures and coo at the omega, “look how little you used to be”. Fuck knocking him up to see him fat and happy. He could hand feed him and then pull him into his lap, feel him up, while he blushes and giggles, swatting at his hands and telling him in that sweeter than sugar voice to quit it. To let him be for just one goddamn second._

Steve comes back into himself when Bucky shifts, a louder than normal whimper falls out of his lax mouth. Fucking mating encephalitis. Fucking hindbrain. Fucking cock that fucking hard from just... ugh. Fuck himself, his entirely stupid self… Steve takes an additional noise as his cue to leave and get back to cooking. If not for himself than for Bucky, for his privacy because once more he’s being creepy as all hell, but also for Bucky because if he wakes up soon and there’s no food that’s gonna be strange. It’s been like two hours. He’s Teriyaki Chicken Casserole is only supposed to take an hour at the most… so, yeah, he needs to, like, not. He needs to quit wasting so much goddamn time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys ready for the last three chapters that will hopefully completely throw you for a loop?? What did you think of this chapter? Were the breaks in time awful? Were they great? What's your biggest complaint or a compliment you have lol? I live for comments (but you probably figured that out already if you've made it this far) <3


	6. Bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things sometimes have to get worse before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (some more hurt/comfort for y'all)

“Shit, boss, what’s up with you?” 

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve deadpans, apparently putting too much  _ dead _ into his deadpan because the look that crosses his employee’s face is complete and utter terror. His slight scent also pollutes with his alarm, growing sour. Maybe too much actual emotion leaked into his voice then, or- maybe it wasn’t enough emotion, maybe… maybe he just doesn’t understand. He’s got no fucking idea, “sorry.” He breathes out, genuinely feeling guilty. “I had a long night.” 

“Looks like it,” Clint bounces back mercifully easy, fiddling with his hearing-aid while he shrugs. 

“Yeah- yeah,” Steve reaches forward and grabs Clint by the biceps, shaking him a little bit because it’s something that tends to make him smile, “look, Clint, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go full scary alpha on you,” Clint grins, whether it’s from the shaking or the blatant bashing of his designation he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care either way. It’s at least a few pounds off of his chest, not having Clint be upset with him just because he didn’t think before he spoke, “I just am having a rough time right now, that’s all,” he gives him a pat before retracting his hands. The beta cocks his head and begins to open his mouth just as realized fear strikes through his chest,  _ he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that _ , he snaps his mouth back open before he can beat him to words first, “it has nothing to do with you, by the way. I swear. Not you or Wanda.” 

“I wasn’t worried,” he muses, scent settling as he fixes a sly but irrefutable shit-eating grin on his face. Steve’s fear settles from not wanting Clint to be mad at him to not wanting him to peg him with whatever has just popped into his head. But the expression melts quickly and it leaves Steve drowning in his own anxiety for just a moment between it and his words, “it’s about that omega right? The, uhh, the one who’s gotten a little chunky lately. Well. I don’t mean-” his smile turns to something of an apology, “he’s just a, like, like- He’s not the stick that he was, y’know? Brown hair, blue - I think they’re blue - eyes? He smells incredibly strong and sweet?” His droning trails off into something of a snicker, “it nearly knocked you on your ass that first time he came in. Surely you remember?” He teases. 

Steve turns into a statue. Ignoring all of Clint’s ramblings and playful mocking and just going completely still as if he’s a deer in headlights. He’s probably telling the beta more than enough with his stiffened body and the paling of his face, “wh-hAt?” His voice breaks roughly, Steve swallows, not even registering any of the embarrassment wanting to break into his atmosphere at the jagged sound of his voice, he feels a little dizzy with his lack of breathing since being so easily called out. So casually called out. 

Clint nods like he’s a sage, cradled at the top of a mountain and awake from everyone, all knowing and understanding, “mmmm, I thought so.”

Steve chokes out another wonderfully insightful, “what?” at the accusation. 

“He hasn’t been coming around as often.” Clint coughs into his fist, making a face before he does it, letting him know that it’s not something gracing his face that’s making the other act awkwardly, “and when he does come in it’s just, like, he’s here and then gone, yanno?” 

Steve does know. 

He knows it painfully well. 

He has known it painfully well for the past weeks, the count of days running and blending into one another in a way that’s juxtaposed to the same flurry of blurring time that had been occuring in the weeks before these weeks. It’s not a joyful drippy, runny, haze now- it’s less like honey over cornbread and more like milk spilling onto your plate after you knock over your glass as a kid. The past three weeks hasn’t felt like three weeks. It’s felt moroseful, it’s felt the same way baking a cake feels before going to frost it and realizing that the frosting you’ve made doesn’t work because it’s a bit too much of a liquid so by the point that you’ve finished it just looks  _ bad  _ when all you’ve done is try and try and  _ try.  _

“I’ll leave you to that then,” Clint says, trying to cheer his words up with the lazy salute he throws up as he goes back out to the counter but it doesn’t work. On Steve or on himself. 

Steve can smell the sadness coming off of himself in waves. Or like steam. 

Bucky didn’t just stop talking to him or stop coming over to his apartment but… maybe it would’ve been better if he did. Maybe it would’ve been easier for them both. Because Steve can’t take not knowing if Bucky just doesn’t want to be friends with him anymore and he’s try to let him down slowly. He can’t take it. Like, he can’t take  _ this  _ more than he can’t take not knowing if Bucky is into men (really, into  _ him) _ . 

Steve glances down to his hands. He’s been meaning to look over the books and do the math for their profit this month (he’s trying to figure out if he can now afford to give Wanda and Clint and subsequently himself a raise or not) but… he’s just been alternating between reading the numbers and thinking. And. And all he’s going to do now is think. He knows that. 

His feet take him to their little break room that’s next to the bathroom on the wall of the back that forms the bottom left corner of the backroom. 

His fingers guide the door shut behind himself with a quiet click. He doesn’t lock it. He may  _ feel _ pathetic but… he doesn’t need to  _ act  _ pathetic. He’s not going to lock the door to the break room because he’s having a mild breakdown. Maybe he should rename this room the breakdown room.  _ Maybe,  _ he thinks, resting his forehead against his knees the second his ass makes contact with the floor. Sinking down the wall to sit on the floor, he feels like he needs a fucking time out and sitting in the corner, well, sitting with his back to the corner, doesn’t make him feel any better. It just makes him think harder. 

More thoughts of Bucky dance across his mind, sending him into a self-pity powered downward spiral, just a pirouette. 

He thought Bucky and himself had really clicked…  _ he’d thought that Bucky liked him _ . He had thought that Bucky enjoyed being around him. Not that he’d wanted to be with him. Bucky didn’t want that and if it seemed like he had at any point Steve knew that it was just the very human want to get back up after such a painful break-up, just the urge to have a little rebound. Or if it wasn’t that then it would’ve just been his own head screwing things up.  _ Yeah.  _ Steve thumps his head onto his knees a couple times, letting his nails curl into the vulnerable, nerve spiked skin of his palms. Bucky had needed him, yeah. Had. He had needed him. He’d needed him to help attempt to quell Her and then to get over Her; Steve of all people knows how much hormones and pheromones alike can fuck someone up, and that must’ve been all that it was, Bucky needed an alpha around to help him get over not getting to have his own alpha. Now he’s realized that he doesn’t need him anymore. And it’s fine. It is. It’s his decision- well, it isn’t  _ his  _ decision, not really, Bucky’s too sweet to do something like that.  _ To use you _ , his rational brain whispers. He wouldn’t use him, he wouldn’t, it’s just… just his hindbrain and instincts and all those mess of leftover primal needs. Just like his mating sickness. 

_ Or,  _ prods a thought at the very base of his skull, worming it’s way up to the front of his head,  _ he figured out that you want him and feels trapped, which would explain how slowly he’s letting go. _

__

Steve’s nerves all sting. A full body slap, administered by his own brain. 

That  _ would _ make sense- if he figured out how much he wanted to be with him and he didn’t return the feelings. It seems more in Bucky’s character to silently slip away rather than to confront him or just right away go to ghosting him. It’s even more likely if you consider the fact that any ability to confront things head-on tends to be drilled out of omegas because of the possibility that it might endanger them seeing how aggressive pissed off alphas might be. 

So.

Bucky has either stopped coming over to his apartment every day - starting by saying no once in one week to twice the next week and five times this week - because he knows that Steve wants him and he doesn’t want Steve or because he’s done with him entirely. He’s not sure which of them he wants to be true. Preferably neither but… yeah. It has to be  _ something.  _ Surely. The omega has stopped coming around to the shop every day after work too, instead if Bucky wants to see him he’s taken to texting, asking if he would like to get together after he’s already walked home. The souls of Steve’s feet have taken to aching on the days he doesn’t get to share his journey home with the angelic brunette. And when he does actually set foot into the shop he comes in and goes out with Steve within ten to twentyish minutes. He knows Bucky gets off work at least two hours before he does on the days where he works the latest. He used to come into the shop for those hours. To eat and chat and keep warm or whatnot. Now he comes in to retrieve him and not to kill his free time there joyfully. Not to eat unless Steve specifically insists that he have something and not to chat while he sits at his favored table, waiting graciously. Now he stands near the counter or by the windows. 

He’s gone from popping into Steve’s life and wrecking him, to bleeding into his life at every possible moment perfectly, to then popping in and out of his life. He’s become a ghost. 

Steve feels like he’s bleeding into Bucky’s life now, sort of, really he feels like he’s an outsider all of the sudden. As if rather than having Bucky being added to his life like a quick shot of flavor he’s being pushed into Bucky’s batter of life now, being forced into something that his own flavor doesn’t compliment. They don’t fit anymore… well, keeping with the metaphor would mean that he doesn’t  _ mix  _ with him anymore. But. He’s not at his most eloquent. 

Steve gets the guilt laden privilege of seeing the dark haired, light eyed omega that evening.

The entire time he cannot stop the churning of his conscience, he can’t not overthink every little twitch the omega gives. Every turn of his head, every muscle that tenses, every breath he takes. Steve’s aware of all of it. More than usual at least- which has to be impressive in some degree because he was very aware of Bucky before. There’s just never been a fear or intruder-like feeling before. 

By the time that Bucky texts him - during that hour before the sun starts to set where everything looks like it’s being seen through gold tinted glasses - he’s already been home for a few hours, excusing himself from closing up on account of a headache that he could feel building. It wasn’t untrue. Clint had given him one lookover and had agreed so vehemently that Wanda couldn’t argue… for once Clint hadn’t given him any awkward words in return, he’d just nodded again and gone back to what he was doing, telling Steve not to worry because he would take care of it no problem. 

His walk home had felt like it had taken place while a rainstorm raged despite the clear skies that had blanketed the city. 

So he’s at home. He’s already showered and is planning on having a very early night when Bucky sends him a voice memo over text - that in of itself makes his day much, much better, just hearing his honeyed voice - asking if he’d like to come over to  _ his apartment _ for once. They originally only hung out at his place because Bucky didn’t have a place and then he was trying to get his place together and by the time he had it was just a habit for him to come over to Steve’s. So it makes sense for Steve to finally get to go over into his space but… again. It feels strange. It feels like maybe Bucky is silently telling him that he doesn’t want to be in  _ his  _ space,  _ his den, _ but he’s also an idiot because he can’t not remember all the warnings he’s heard from various mouths about how not easy it is for omegas to share their spaces with others. It’s a deeply private thing for them apparently, whether or not they make nests out of those private spaces. It’s a safe space for most omegas. A cocoon of sorts-

Steve knows how much the omega likes cocoons, especially those that are built out of blankets.  _ How many blankets does he own? Does he like to nest? If he does enjoy nesting does he have one built on his bed or on his sofa- he seems to like cuddling on couches.  _

Steve snaps out of his tempest, everything is backwards and upside down in his head. 

“Hi!”

Steve indescribably enthralled the  _ second  _ the door opens and Bucky’s voice flows into the slightly chilled air of the cheerily but fairly plainly designed hallway. It’s very different to the serious but comforting feeling of his apartment building’s hallway- it fits the omega much more though. But… Jesus, Bucky looks so good. His hair is fluffier than Steve’s ever had the pleasure of seeing it. It’s not curly like it was upon waking up tucked into his side or after showering later in the morning but it’s just as pretty. It looks like he’s gotten like a blow-out or something. It’s easy and wavy and full looking. Rather than having an actual part on the right side of his head he’s got it styled so that much of the hair around the crown of his head is just effortlessly flowing over to one side. Messy but elegant. His hair is completely down, falling in waves around his gorgeous face, but his rounded cheeks and softened jaw isn’t hidden by the dark chocolate strands. His eyes are wide and sparkly as per usual but his lips are extra red and shiny as if he’s been biting at his lip too much. His shoulders are swathed in an extra large looking sweatshirt that leaves his collarbones out in the open, the fabric is black and it makes his eyes seem brighter than normal right along with making his skin more golden. 

Forget taking his breath away, Bucky’s making his body forget how to go about taking in air at all, “hey,” Steve manages somehow after the pause has grow to be a little more than awkward- he still can’t fucking breathe. 

Fuck. 

It’s only been like two and a half days since he’s seen him. How did he forget how ethereal this fucking omega is? How can he be such a mess  _ already?  _

Steve doesn’t know what to say besides greeting him, his tongue has been bewitched into an oath of silence while his mind races around the plethora of compliments and praise that he can wash over him in the hope that it might come close to the beauty emanating from Bucky. Instead of talking though he lifts up the small box he brought with him. One of the boxes that he snags from the shop as they always have an overwhelming amount of them from ingredients shipments. Smiling and trying to remember how to breathe and keep his heart beating at the same time is difficult on it’s own around the brunette but adding the need to balance a box full of sweets is quickly becoming impossible. 

It’s honestly not much, but, well, he didn’t want to come over without bringing anything for Bucky. He’s a little too used to feeding him apparently. But. Whatever, uselessly he gruffs out a shrug and the words, “is it too late for a housewarming gift?” 

The brunette laughs, his lips parting and pulling back entrancingly, the sugary sound is melodic and almost  _ melancholy.  _ He shakes his head softly as he steps to the side to let Steve into the apartment, more of his hair pours around his face like waves lapping at the shore. Some of the nameless sweet smell of Bucky’s hair products float on over to his atmosphere along with something from him that just barely breaks the surface of the artificial scent. The patient, judgmental snake that’s been coiled around his heart for the past couple of weeks stirs and pulls tighter, making his heart jump into his throat.  _ Is he upset that he brought him food? Is he upset with himself for letting me come over? Is Steve just projecting onto him? _

“Nutella Cupcakes,” Steve murmurs, lifting the box a little higher even though it’s not like Bucky is looking at the box, he’s walking behind him, “and some sweet breads… I uhh, just grabbed some of the stuff from my fridge. Nothing particularly special today unfortunately.” 

Bucky definitely is actually kind of sad and also enthused when he smiles at Steve and proclaims, “you’re the only one who looks like  _ that,”  _ those pale, glittering eyes shoot up from his feet to his face, taking their time, “and has cupcakes in their fridge.” Oh. The snake that was choking him relaxes the tiniest amount, allowing for him to take in an actual breath and allowing for his heart to fully beat once more, spreading blood to his extremities right along with  _ other areas  _ that he wishes wouldn’t get their share of blood currently. Even Bucky’s rising melancholy scent doesn’t quell his, uhm, growing interest from simply being looked over by him. He just tries his darndest not to stumble as he steps farther away from the entryway and towards the kitchen (thank god for open floor plans). Resolutely Steve does  _ not  _ sniff the air again to pick up just how sad or upset Bucky is by this point. He opens his mouth faintly and breathes in his scent instead, drying his own throat and banishing himself to only tasting the hint of what he can of Bucky’s lightly soured smell and not decoding it with his nose. Not thinking about it too hard for now. 

“Exactly,” he tries to snark back, falling short with something that’s closer to sincerity when he continues on, “which is why I brought them to share,” he looks around wildly, “I don’t see any treats here… so,” he shrugs, “ _ here.”  _ Bucky’s lips curl into a shy smile and one of his hands that’s being swallowed with a vengeance by his sweatshirt comes up to push the front part of his hair back and out of the way so he’s able to scratch just behind his ear. His scent mellows minutely. 

Steve’s not sure if his own scent isn’t just changing Bucky’s but he’s going to take it anyway. What he’s not going to take is the pull of his eyes to the omega’s back as he turns. The box in his hands is suddenly a hell of a lot more interesting than Bucky. Nutella cupcakes, lemon bread, raspberry bread that’s spiked with wine, and a simple sugar cinnamon bread. The listing of what he’s brought is a good distraction but it’s apparently too good because Steve only processes the quiet mumble that falls from Bucky’s glossy, bitten lips after it’s been too long to respond to it. He’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it anyway but now that he has registered it… well, he doesn’t know what to do. It’s a quiet, little, and nearly pathetic but definitely self pitying sounding comment;  _ don’t really need any treats.  _ Even though Bucky doesn’t make any further point at talking as he goes about showing Steve where he can put the box in his fridge, making room by setting aside other things that he’s got in his refrigerator, Steve finds himself unable to not recoil. His nose even wrinkles without his own brain telling it to. Instinctually all he wants to do is remove that thought from the air around them- hell, he wants to remove that thought and any remotely like it from Bucky’s mind. He wants to sooth that worry with enough kisses to make him giggle again.

At least Bucky isn’t looking at him when he reacts, completely out of time with the late reaction. 

He never thought that  _ that  _ might’ve been the issue that’s forcing Bucky to turn away from him. It’s technically his fault, yes, there’s no doubt in his mind that it comes down to his habit of handing over anything that’s edible towards the omega but… it’s not the same level of it being his fault like Bucky being disgusted by his feelings towards him. If that makes sense? It’s still partly something he needs to blame on himself but it’s also something that’s coming directly from Bucky, unless-

No. 

_ No. No,  _ Steve tells his hindbrain, he is not going to even think of the possibility that someone else has been commenting and making fun of how Bucky’s filled out a little. He will not. Not when Bucky is right  _ here  _ and will easily be able to tell what’s going on in his brain. Anyone (even  _ Clint _ ) can tell what an instinctual meltdown looks like. 

Regardless of his scolding- Steve’s brain, both hind and rational, are already beginning to work overtime at how to fix what he’s doing. What he’s _ been _ doing. What Bucky’s doing to himself in some regard by letting himself think things like that. Like his  _ weight  _ should decide what he does or doesn’t deserve. He needs to fucking figure out some way to do something about this. Anything really. He’s… he’s gotta stop himself maybe. Maybe he should just fucking talk to him. Maybe- maybe he shouldn’t say anything; he doesn’t want to kick the younger man when he’s already down. Yeah. Maybe. Maybe he’ll just take the hit and stop bringing him things to eat. Sure, he’ll be fucking  _devastated_ to see Bucky go back down in weight no doubt (he might actually have to hibernate in his apartment by his lonesome to mourn the loss but… there’s nothing to be done). And he doesn’t mean to promote that it’s a  _ bad _ thing, even subconsciously to Bucky, that he’s gotten fluffier but- it seems like the right thing to do. To keep the omega happy. And if he has to watch all the gorgeous parts of him that’ve filled out disappear then he will because a thousand times over he would, he would rather not make Bucky disappear completely. Forget just hibernating if he has to get by without any communication to the brilliant omega. How should he-

Bucky has turned back around. Ah. And he’s staring at the box in Steve’s hands. Intently. It’s not the kind of intent that screams that he hates or even dislikes the box of sweets but… he looks… he looks not like he doesn’t want it but, but, the rest of the expression carved into his striking face. 

Suddenly his lungs seem indifferent to Bucky’s presence with the weight of his own decision. 

Steve steals himself. Breathing in with his thoughts branded into his lungs, heating up his insides but cooling his features. He can do this. He can walk this line for Bucky, he would fucking walk five hundred miles for Bucky- regardless of the irony behind that saying because of internet culture. He can and he will. He can be delicate-  _ he can.  _

Turning his back to Bucky allows for him to breathe in his own mirage of privacy for a moment, and he listens as he intakes a focused breath through his nose. Yep. He hears Bucky let out the  _ tiniest, cutest  _ noise of regret at the travesty of having the box taken from his sight and he smells the way his scent has changed from the last time he allowed himself to breathe through his nose. He smells of longing now. Clearly, he  _ wants  _ to eat what Steve has brought him (he relaxes a tiny bit at that because if he hadn’t wanted the food then it would have been awkward as all hell to try and take it back with him) and he’s not mad at Steve for bringing them over in the first place he’s just…  _ he doesn’t think he’s allowed to have them. He’s mad at himself for wanting to have whatever it is that he’s brought to him or suggested that he try. He’s- _

“Seriously though, Buck,” Steve pretends to be oblivious, starting up a new branch of conversation for them both to flourish in, “I will bet that you’ll love the lemon bread I brought you,” carefully he takes the four cupcakes he brought off of the top, setting them onto his countertop and then doing the same with the other three kinds of sweet breads, “I added extra lemon in this batch.” Steve feels Bucky take up the space next to him, standing directly in front of where he’s separating the sweets onto the counter, “I don’t think most people have been liking it at the shop because it’s, like, too sour for it to be called a true sweet bread but it’s also too sour for it to be a tart bread like sourdough or something, but I know  _ you _ like sour, so-” he shrugs again. It seems to be his main form of communication today. Bucky hums in agreement and so Steve passes the plate into his hands making the movement cut somewhere between  _ here, put these in the fridge for me  _ and  _ here, try one.  _

He  _ does not  _ hold his breath to wait and see what Bucky does with the plate. No. He just keeps talking, “as for the rest,” speeding forward, “I already told you about the cupcakes but,” Bucky hasn’t moved, he’s just standing holding the plate of lemon bread. Well, it honestly seems like he’s cradling the plate more than he’s holding it but that doesn’t really matter, it’s just kind of a distraction really. He’s fucking cute, okay? “There’s also raspberry bread-” he elbows Bucky’s side because he can and also because he’s still a statue. He completely ignores the softness that his elbow meets, both in fabric and flesh, “that’s spiked with wine. _ And _ a simple sugar cinnamon bread.” 

Bucky’s reply is underlying with the sound of Saran Wrap uncurling and Steve has never heard something that sounds so much like victory, “spiked?” He scoffs, his voice trembling vaguely around the edges, “what’s your plan with giving me spiked bread?” Steve chokes his way into some much needed laughter while Bucky grins at him for a moment, the plate half uncovered. 

“I- I, uhh,” Steve cuts himself off, laughing harder as Bucky’s face and comment flash through his mind once again. 

“Well-” Bucky shrugs, letting his voice fade into a hum as he picks out a piece of lemon bread and holds it up in the air for a moment, mocking a cheers before he takes a bite. A smaller bite than normal but still a bite-

And he _moans_. 

Steve isn’t sure that his fucking  _ soul  _ stays in his body or if it’s promptly thrown out of his throat and then out of the window of Bucky’s apartment. He’s not sure if he would know the difference with everything else invading his mind. He’s not sure how he doesn’t immediately whip around to gape at him and drool, he’s not sure how he doesn’t give himself whiplash while turning his head around so he can see Bucky’s face. He’s not fucking sure how he doesn’t also moan after him. He’s not sure how he doesn’t let the growling gasp that’s sitting on the back of his tongue out of his mouth. He's not sure how fucking noticeable his erection is because he can feel all of the blood take a speedy fucking trip straight down south. He's not sure how he stays on his own feet with the way his head is spinning, the way his vision is swimming. He's not sure how he doesn't collapse at Bucky's feet and spill all of his guts right then and there. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck happens for a solid thirty seconds. 

He does know that that blessid sound will be starring in a lot of  _ places  _ later. Places that he can't fucking afford to think of right now if the throbbing in his knot is anything to go by. 

“Umm,” Bucky offers, breathlessly squeaking, “they’re, um, really good.” 

There’s a few crumbs sticking to his lower candied looking lip and the left corner of his mouth and it takes every bit of his stubbornness he possesses and some that he doesn’t to not surge forward to cradle his head in his hands and brush those crumbs away from his magnetic skin. Or, hell, maybe instead of brushing them away maybe he’d push them into his mouth…

Steve licks his lips and Bucky mirrors him a second later. 

It takes Steve more than a second to remember that he’s supposed to respond, “thanks, Buck.” His accidental use of his nickname’s nickname calms the both of them and fastens their strings back to the earth. Grounding them. Silence that’s comfortable but not completely lacking hair-raising electricity stretches out between them like a lazy cat in the sun. Steve moves to grab the plate from Bucky again giving him as much privacy as he can as he turns his back, re-opening the fridge to put the bread away and offering, “I trust you but…” he stretches out the word, uselessly rotating the plate to get the words from his brain to his mouth, “ _ I  _ think the raspberry wine bread is a lot better.” 

Bucky makes a sweet noise of curiosity before he slides back into silence, when he’s able to see the omega again Steve understands why- he’s chewing. His cheeks puffed slightly and a little quirked smile controlling his mouth. An intense blush is still blanketing the soft skin of his face and neck.

Intentionally Steve grabs for the cupcakes and not the bread he mentioned just then, knowing that just a week or so ago he would’ve probably had one of each of the things he brought, if not, then he would’ve at least taken a piece of each. He puts the cupcakes into the fridge with the same amount of care and attention. More crinkling of plastic wrap ensues. Steve feels like purring even though he himself can’t because he’s an alpha,  _ maybe you could get Bucky to purr for you,  _ a voice offers in the back of his mind. He swallows it down. 

Breathing in the scent of the omega Steve is unable to bite away his grin. He honestly smells  _ so  _ much better. He smells like- like… like he’s carefree. Like he doesn’t care because he’s not thinking about things he doesn’t need to. 

He can’t even wipe the smile off of his face as his muscles protest and he turns back to Bucky, grabbing another plate as Bucky finishes what has to be his second or third bite of that bread, “woof,” he starts dramatically, “I can say that I can tell that it’s spiked.” A Cheshire Cat grin prowls over his captivating mouth, “you’re not subtle if that was your plan.” Steve doesn’t have any food to choke on but he kinda wishes he did because maybe then he’d have something to blame. He’s gotten this playful version of Bucky before, mainly when he was still seeing Her and had yet to have any suspicions of Her, but it’s not any less striking every time he gets to witness it. He fucking loves it. He loves that he’s comfortable enough to be less than polite according to what omegas  _ “should”  _ be. 

It’s fantastic to see and when he takes into account the change in his smell and the little curls at the corners of his mouth that have become permanent again he  _ knows  _ in his fucking soul that he’s done good here. He hasn’t fixed Bucky’s insecurity but he  _ could,  _ in theory. He could if Bucky will let him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely acknowledge that fiction or not you can't "fix" someone's insecurity as instantly or easily as this and that you might not ever be able to. However, you are free to imagine all the rest of the work that Steve will gladly put in for Bucky, y'know? Probable hand-feeding and whispering and even more baking y'know.   
> ALSO I promise... the final two chapters are chapters that you're gonna wanna stick around for ;)


	7. Tangy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are confessed. Times are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Extra trigger warning: some of Bucky's internal thoughts towards his weight gain are vocalized through dialog in this chapter and while they're basically fought tooth an nail by Steve I assumed it would be the right thing to do to just add this in here even though I added one upfront too.

Texts and calls only do so much for quelling Steve’s instinctual hunger to have Bucky over and to have him within his sight- however, the lack of in person meetings slash sightings does mean he has less, uhh,  _ awkward _ moments for whatever reason that always seems to be different beyond the fact that they’re caused by Bucky. Bucky’s  _ noises  _ when he eats something he finds particularly good. Bucky’s  _ smell  _ (which is always a problem no matter how many times he smells him). Bucky’s face all the fucking time: his lips, his eyes, his expressions, and those fucking cheeks. Bucky’s fucking ease with himself, the way he just says what he wants most of the time (despite the  _ thing  _ he’s now got with food, unfortunately,) and sits or stands how he wants. Polite but relaxed enough to show off all of his fucking assets. Just… everything does it for him with Bucky. Everything. 

So, yeah, an entire, whole, uninterrupted week without seeing him is hard… just, y’know, not like hard like  _ that.  _ Which is a bit of a relief for the other people that are sometimes around them when they do get together. 

Even without the in person parts of their friendship, he is pleased to notice that even though this week is a new record for the longest they’ve gone without hanging out that the amount of interactions via their phones has basically tripled. Still. Texts and calls aside: Steve has not forgotten about the time they had in Bucky’s apartment- it hadn’t been awkward or anything bad after he had plied the omega with more of his cooking, after coaxing him into eating some of it. That is not the reason that he recalls it with perfect clarity. No, he recalls it because of the way Bucky had eaten his usual amount (and maybe a little more because he’d been trying to be warmly encouraging and he had gotten way more comfortable doing that after an hour of so) but after every couple of bites he’d put down whatever he was munching on. And his eyes would get a little wider as if he didn’t realize what he was doing. He occasionally even made a joke at his own expense; Steve had had to fake his laughter for those. Or he’d make a face when he thought Steve wasn’t looking that suggested he was upset with himself for continuing to eat. To put it as he feels with it, bluntly, it hurt. It hurt to watch him beat himself up when there is no part of him that’s fucking not heart-attack, drop-dead gorgeous worthy. Nothing. 

Through text and phone calls his plan to compliment Bucky into feeling  _ something  _ that’s not entirely negative has still been going strong. 

Bucky will ask him what he’s doing inevitably and Steve will tell him what he’s baking because, let’s face it, he’s always doing something in the kitchen. Bucky will ask for pictures after and he’ll send them gleefully. Usually he also has asked after he sends the picture if he wants a delivery of some of them, Bucky always turns it down shly and always assures him that they taste great like everything he makes or that he should eat one of them for him. 

Then the subject will change. A couple of times, almost like Bucky was trying to remind himself that he “shouldn’t” be eating something like that (Steve disagrees  _ strongly) _ , the subject had changed to what the dark haired omega was doing and Bucky then sends him pictures of himself. He doesn’t even have to ask and he’s grateful for that because he’s pretty sure he’d accidentally let something slip if he did have to ask- he can  _ feel  _ the way his fingers always itch to type out some kinda texts like,  _ hey, what’re you doing. I sure could use a picture of your pretty face to make my day better, whaddya say? _ Although. They aren’t usually just his face, most of the time they’ve been full body shots, shots meant to show off his outfit for that day. Steve unabashedly compliments him every time. No questions asked- at least he can let some of the waterfall pouring into the ocean worth of compliments out a little bit when it’s appropriate then. 

Those compliments aren’t even part of the conscious plan to make him feel better about himself. They just slip out of him. Accidentally. 

Bucky seems to like them though because usually after if his face wasn’t in the picture then he sends him a selfie. Steve has only not saved three of those photos because his restraint is nonexistent when Bucky’s put into the equation. Fuck it all. He knows it's creepy. But. He’s justified it accidentally by knowing now that Wanda saves her friends photos so she can send them back to them when they feel down as she explained when she squeaked upon spying Bucky’s face in his phone’s gallery while he was searching for that photo he took of some muffins he experimented with after work. Now there’s no hope for himself. 

And even less hope upon knowing that the younger man is on his way over  finally  because his upstairs neighbour has decided to have a party and despite complaining to the landlord there’s nothing he can do about it seeing as that patron asked a month before if they would be able to have a little get together. Bucky proclaims,  _ loudly _ , over the phone, because he totally wasn’t exaggerating with the level of the music that even the landlord looked like he was regretting saying yes to that person. Apparently that person has already been asked to turn down the music twice, and twice the person has. Steve’s head  _ pounds _ just imagining what it must’ve sounded like before those incidents, he does not blame Bucky, nor does he blame the rowdy neighbour… he wants to see Bucky. Selfishly. 

Bucky’s revealed figure is enough to make Steve get short of breath and fall a little harder into the door, allowing the mostly opened cut of wood to take more of his weight, “hey,” he greets. Probably a little too cheerily and not casual enough. 

“Steve,” Bucky exhales the sound of his voice, sounding relieved to be standing face to face with him despite the nervous look seemingly taking up his face. Tightening his soft and pretty features. Hopefully it’s the offset of his plans to stay home tonight and not the fact that he’s had to come and see him that’s making him make that face. Steve feels his eyes get pulled around Bucky, glancing over him like there’s a pen-light in front of him with an optometrist asking him to follow it except he’s also drawn to the light like there's a magnet in his eye because he’s not even thinking about following any instructions. He’s just doing. First his eyes float to his hair, coming from his frosted eyes and luscious eyelashes. His dark locks have been done up in a bun that’s actually called a _ top knot _ according to the omega standing in front of him and he knows from having the privilege of watching him create the style more than once that it looks stupidly elegant for how short of a time it takes him to do. His hair is perfectly messy and, with the exception of some pleasantly curly strands around his hairline that are doing an expert job at framing his face, all of it has been piled at the crown of his head. Today he has on dark, navy blue jeans and an impressively white sweatshirt (he always stains anything that’s even sort of a light color) that’s layered with a black jean jacket. He’s seen the pants and jacket before. But not the sweatshirt, maybe it’s new? Everything he has on is oversized (Steve doesn’t let himself think about why). The sweatshirt certainly covers him, and it seems like he’s folded or rolled the bottom of it up so it sort of comes to his waist. Steve hopes that it is rolled rather than having a super thick band or something because judging by the rest of the fit that probably means that it falls well below his waist when uncurled.  _ He definitely would look outrageously cute like that,  _ his intrusive thoughts chime in.  _ Probably like a frightened pup that’s buried themselves in their parents clothing.  _

They get about two steps into the apartment before Bucky’s reaching out and touching him - Steve nearly faints when he does - grabbing at his wrist gently, the touch even without narration begs for him to turn around and take in Bucky again. His instincts agree with the logic, wanting desperately to make sure he’s okay. But as he’s turning around Bucky’s stepping foot into his space and sliding his mostly sweater consumed hand a little higher on his wrist, squeezing as they lock eyes. Steve doesn’t understand how he understands but he does. That’s all that matters. 

Bucky’s body is entirely swallowed in fabric so Steve can’t tell if he’s actively been attempting to lose weight or not but the uncovered skin of his face distracts him from that fact. At least he’s probably more than warm enough, being buried in his clothes. Bucky’s shorter and overall smaller frame has him tucking his nose into the junction between his shoulder and neck. He feels smaller than he looks, leaning into him like he is, fitting against him like he is, his mouth placed against his neck-

_ Exactly where he’d bite if they were going to bond.  _

“Thanks for letting me escape from over there,” he breathes out, hints of laughter breaking through the breathy tone of voice carrying out of his lips (which are still brushing his skin hypnotically) and spreading over his skin. Fireflies buzz and come alive under his skin. Steve expects the hug to just be for that and so he pauses, saving his assurance that Bucky is always welcome when he can see his face and know that he’s telling the truth with that but then the omega is leaning in to be somehow closer and pausing… tilting his head to the side like, like, he wants to  _ scent mark him.  _ Steve inhales so roughly that it borders on sounding like he’s choking. More warmth rampages his insides; all he wants to do is hug Bucky closer and closer and tell him, yes,  _ yes, do whatever you’re comfortable with. _ Steve wants him so fucking bad.

A whisper of regular room temperature air brushes against him and Bucky makes a quiet noise, oblivious to the havoc being wrecked inside his skull. And he can’t have him pulling away now. Not yet. Not when he’s just-

Steve shifts the arm he’s got wrapped around Bucky’s lower back, realizing that he hadn’t moved at all in reaction to Bucky’s little prompt and that that’s probably what’s scaring him off, bringing his arm up high enough that it should be obvious that he doesn’t want him to pull back but, that he can do what he wants to. But not so screamingly obvious that if Bucky did it by mistake, or if Steve read his little action wrong, that he can still pull away, “sorry,” Bucky’s voice isn’t audible. He can just feel the shape that his lips make, still half pressed to his neck. Steve doesn’t know how to respond so he just brings his palm higher on his back, stopping to rub the very top of his back, arguably his neck really, before he skirts the back of his neck with his fingertips and tilts his hand and wrist just enough to catch Bucky’s scent gland with the one at his own wrist. The wonderful fucking omega tips his head in the opposite direction, giving him more room for just a second before returning the favor. Rubbing his cheek over the delicate skin that covers his own scent gland, chirping quietly in a  _ very  _ omega-like noise he’s never heard from him. He’s never felt the heady rush of pleased alpha instincts before… and he’s suddenly wondering whether or not he’s actually still standing against that force of hormones because his vision is a little more than a little hazy. Bucky makes another chirp. 

A rumble of his own continues long past the point that they pull apart, “you want something to eat or drink, or, do you just wanna crash and watch something?” Bucky’s lips are curled slightly at the corners like he can’t help himself from smiling just a little, Steve has to throw a look over his shoulder into the kitchen to protect himself against the radiance contained in that look and also to remind himself that friends do scent mark each other.  _ It’s not just a thing for mates- packs do it all the fucking time. All the time. So get over it, alright?  _ A particularly paternal but harsh sounding voice in his head reminds him. 

“I already ate,” Bucky offers, shrugging a little as he too looks away, studying the ground. Steve doesn’t get the impression that he’s having the same internal fight that he is… although, with the slightly pinched look that’s coming to his face he kinda wishes that that was what he was thinking about instead. He looks back up, hardly containing his guilty look; Steve hums and nods trying to hide his own feelings about it. 

Although, in a small miracle, Bucky murmurs, “maybe snacks later though,” as they sit on the couch, brushing hands as Steve naturally gives over control of the TV. According to their pattern of movie nights it’s still Bucky’s turn to pick whatever they’re watching. The last time he was over -  _ and, dear god, when was that?  _ \- Steve had picked the entertainment. 

“Later, yeah,” Steve says, because he’s working on tipping himself over from purgatory to hell apparently, “what about some tea now though? I was gonna make myself some anyway.” Bucky hums, focused adorably furiously on the screen full of titles and descriptions and trailers. He’s a terrible person. He’s still trying to push stuff down his throat, and,  _ ah, there it is,  _ he thinks, regretting his decision to stand up and cursing his own choice of words because it’s only natural that his mind would go  _ there _ . 

Bucky nods then, oblivious but agreeing at the perfect time for more complicated feelings to curl in his gut (thankfully taking the place of some other feelings) because hopefully he’s not a mind-reader. Hopefully he’s not agreeing that he’s a terrible person. Bucky looks up at him as he asks, “what kinds do you have again?” 

Steve decides to raise his voice incrementally as he gets himself into the kitchen, not risking anything else bubbling up to tattletale on him to the omega when there isn’t any distractions between them, like the dejection that wants to swarm him and drag him down at not having had Bucky over in so long that he’s forgotten his tea choices. Even though that’s a dumb thing to be sad over, like, he doesn’t even normally drink tea. “Uhhh, I still have peppermint, chamomile, and a couple different types of black and green tea. There’s some white tea in there too somewhere I think.” 

“Surprise me,” Bucky calls from the living room, oblivious to the goofy grin now spreading across his face.  _ He can do that. _

“What’re we watching?” Steve announces himself, crossing into the living room and seeing the loading emblem claiming most of the screen, two mugs of tea claiming the real-estate of his hands. 

Bucky puts his head all the way back against the top of the couch, a soft thump coming from the movement, arching his neck and causing a couple more strands of unruly but beautiful hair to come loose from his bun. He rolls his head to the side so that they’re face to face, so he’s not staring at the ceiling and his perfect lips purse cutely, “what’d you bring me?” He challenges him, his tone reminds Steve of when kids stick their tongues out to show their apparent indifference or displeasure, a few spare chuckles make their way out of him because of it. Bucky is probably the only grown adult that would be able to make sticking their tongue out seem cute and not immature. 

“Peach green tea,” he comes to Bucky’s side, telling him to “sit up,” a little softer than he intends to. Handing off the warm cup; this time it’s just a plain one because an impressive amount of his mugs are sitting in the dishwasher, waiting to be washed even though there’s more than enough dishes piled into it. Their hands brush again and blessedly Steve’s hands don’t shake with the lightning pulsing under his skin because of it, it’s a normal feeling when he gets to touch Bucky but he doesn’t want to spill anyone’s tea. He doesn’t wanna burn Bucky. “Like I said though, there’s other stuff if you want that instead. You can go and rifle through for yourself too.” 

Bucky sways a little side to side after taking a sip, the swaying is easy and slow and Steve is one hundred percent sure he doesn’t know he’s doing it, humming with the flavor, “no, this is good.” He offers out his mug though so Steve isn’t sure how to interpret that, he just looks at it until Bucky looks at him just a little exasperated but can’t stop his lips from revealing his smile, “cheers me, Steve.” 

“Ah,” he agrees, listening to the stupid sound of his own voice and the good noise of their ceramic mugs clinking, the surface of his tea sloshing like his insides seem to be doing at the moment. 

“We’re watching  _ The Old Guard, _ ” Bucky takes a sip of his tea, humming some more after he’s swallowed, his lips already pinker from the heat of the drink.  _ Ah- yes, once again he’s shot himself in the foot.  _ Jesus. 

“What’re you dri-”

“What’s it abou-” 

Bucky’s mouth hangs open the second he realizes they’ve started talking at the same time, silence taking up the place of his words just as Steve stops himself from talking too. Some giggles and another bright smile take the place of his words though. Steve shakes his head, chuckling and gesturing for Bucky to continue first, trying to stop the squeezing of his gut because he’s sure it’ll be audible in his voice. 

“What’s your tea?” He rephrases his words, gently smothering more giggles that want to come up out of him as he speaks. 

Steve grins helplessly, “ah, just some earl grey tea. You like yours though, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Bucky looks at him seriously all of the sudden, “yeah. Of course- your, you…” he squints at him and Steve wants to fucking kiss the wrinkles beginning at the corners of his eyes, “your too good at knowing what tastes good for me to not like it,” he finally gets out. Sounding both pleased with him and suspicious of him for it. 

He shrugs, nearly spilling his own drink for a second time and resisting the urge to ask if Bucky wants a taste of his tea even though it’s incredibly unlikely that he’s never had earl grey tea even if he isn’t a tea drinker, it’s probably the most common black tea behind English breakfast, “don’t think anybody doesn’t like peaches, or, fruit, y’know? It was a safe bet.” 

“You’re modest.” He shoots back, turning to face the TV that’s begun playing through the pre-movie trailers at some point, dramatic music ticking up and drawing them both in, “we’re watching  _ The Old Guard _ , it’s about immortals, crime, and…” he pauses, keeping Steve in suspense before he turns rather than continuing to talk out of the side of his mouth. There’s a little bit of a blush staining his cheeks, barely noticeable and probably from the heat of the t- 

“apparently gays too.” He finishes. 

“Oh, really?” Steve teases, pretending his mind hasn’t cut to a screeching halt with that subject and completely ignoring all of the questions about if he’s into men or not. Drawing his own attention away right along with Bucky’s as he snarks, “you trying to appeal to my demographic tonight, huh?” 

Bucky breaks out into laughter but he also literally says the words, “ha ha!” out loud so then Steve is laughing too. Who else would do that beyond this dorky, wildly intelligent, angelic omega? They’ve been over the fact that he’s gay many times because weirdly enough it seems to come up a lot when he’s with Bucky. Whether it’s because Wanda loudly will tell him about some hot male omega she saw on the way in, griping about how if she wasn’t also an omega she would’ve asked him out but that if she did see him again if he’d want her to get his number for him (he said no  not because of Bucky of course, he just wasn’t interested in dating ). Or because Sam would always nod at attractive men whenever they were out and about and elbow him at the same time. Or if it just happened to naturally come up in conversation. Bucky knew he was gay. But  _ that  _ comment seemed to have more meaning than just that. 

“What-” Bucky falls back into more giggles and Steve  _ knows  _ there’s something else coming, “what makes you- makes you think that it’s not also my demographic?” Bucky giggles his way through the words but Steve hears them as if they’d been uttered deadpan instead. 

Steve knows it’s probably a rhetorical question but, “you never mentioned it,” gets set free from his lips anyway. Nothing in his brain okayed that. And he’s ready to get up and go putz around the kitchen until the awkward moment has passed but Bucky’s cocking his head to the side and any leftover giggles disappear from him. 

“I didn’t?” 

“N-no.” 

“Huh- I guess I just thought I did ‘cause you did,” he shrugs, continuing to allow their eyes to lock. “I dunno, you distract me.” 

Steve nods, not really processing what’s been said but agreeing, there’s no way he wouldn’t not not mind that Bucky’s bi or pan or whatnot. Not a chance. His ending words are more interesting in truth. It sounds like an offhand comment, sure, but it doesn’t  _ feel  _ like an offhand comment. Not to Steve. It sounds like he maybe actually did forget because he gets so  _ distracted.  _ It sounds like what Steve’s been wanting to get a hint at all this time but it would make more sense if he never mentioned it because he was getting over Her and he didn’t want Steve to think there was a chance where there wasn’t one. 

It’s all Steve can think about until they break out the snacks, he doesn’t really pay attention to anything else after  _ The Old Guard  _ ends and when the snacks are brought out. Because when the snacks come out Bucky doesn’t touch them. Even though he asked for them… 

Every once and a while Steve thinks that Bucky is going to pull the trigger and grab a handful of chips or reach for one of the cookies sitting on the coffee table, he keeps looking at them and once he even rocks forward like he’s gonna grab a cookie before he mumbles about needing the bathroom. Every time he comes close to eating Steve holds his breath. Every time he denies himself Steve feels something inside him rip open further, exposing more raw nerves each time. Every time he looks more and more guilty, like a pup debating themselves sick over whether or not to steal the last cookie from the cookie jar even though they’ve also stolen the rest of them. Every time he fiddles with his mug instead, taking drinks instead until he doesn’t have anymore tea. Steve has no idea what to do; he’s helpless.

Eventually, of course, it’s Bucky that saves him from being helpless, uttering a tiny, embarrassed sounding, “I’m sorry.” He’s not even looking at Steve, he looks like he’s either apologizing to his hands or to his lap- where his hands are wringing one another. 

“What!?” Steve says, way too loud for the little confession that he’s just made. Steve’s too harsh, too loud, purely  _ too much  _ of a voice doesn’t frighten him though, the brunette seems like he’s in too much of his own melancholy world to notice. He does shrug though so he must’ve at least heard him, “what are you sorry for, Buck?” He tries, speaking as quiet and soft as he can make himself while scooting as close as he dares to the younger man. 

He shrugs again, opening and shutting his mouth with a tiny, barely there sound that may or may not have been a word. He doesn’t push, he can’t make himself. 

He’s rewarded for his uncommon patience a tense moment later, “I, I just- ‘m sorry for always showing up, like, unannounced or practically unannounced I guess.” Steve opens his mouth, ready with as many comforting words as he can think of (it’s a lot), but Bucky keeps going, “I don’t know, I’m sorry for apologizing too,” he laughs. Bitter with himself. “I’ve been feeling, ah,” he shakes his head as if to stop himself from talking. His arm decides without his consent to stretch up and over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky scoots himself closer, pulling Steve’s arm with him as he does like a pup might with a treasured blanket or toy. His insides feel fevered. The texture of Bucky’s jacket feels nice under his fingers and palm as he rubs his shoulder, the friction warming him and hopefully encouraging Bucky. He keeps looking forward but he does sag into his side. 

“I dunno,” he shakes his head and everything inside him is screaming for him to cup Bucky’s pretty cheeks and look him in the eyes as he tells him,  _ yes, yes you do and you can tell me anything,  _ “I’ve just been feeling not the best, y’know?” Steve still tastes the  _ anything _ on the back of his tongue so he nods and squeezes the arm he has around him, his own alpha scent wafting back from his smaller frame on account of their earlier encounter by the door. It’s not helping his instincts have an easier time. Not at all. 

“Just-” Bucky starts, giving up practically as soon as he ends the word, throwing his head down on his shoulder. Steve feels the skin come alive under his weight. His top knot tickling his neck and shoulder and vaguely uncovered collarbones- it’s the greatest thing he’s ever felt and the only thing that pollutes the little hearts cartoon that he’s sure are circling his head is the growing angst in his scent  that’s almost combined with his own. 

Steve isn’t even whispering when he asks, his voice and words are too quiet for that to be an accurate description of it, “do you think you miss Her?” Personally he thinks he sounds horrified even as he asks it, he also can hear the capitalization of the word  _ Her _ when he says it because he doesn’t want to say her name but apparently he wanted to make sure Bucky knew who he was talking about. Even hoping that Bucky might not hear any of that in his voice seems pathetic because he’s too close for that to happen. 

Bucky responds instantly, “nope.” 

His reply Steve, both with the immediate nature of it and the clear certainty, but it also seems to startle him. Like he didn’t know that about himself until he said it out loud like that. Again, Steve’s got nowhere to go so he finds himself lamely stating, “ _ oh _ . Good. That’s good.” Bucky nods against his shoulder, pretending, badly, to watch whatever’s on the screen. 

After a while, just as Steve is congratulating himself on messing Bucky’s moment of bravery and openness up severely, Bucky wiggles a little under his arm. Getting himself sitting up further and looking him in the eyes for a moment- Steve can see the gears turning in his head so he doesn’t say a thing. He waits for Bucky to come to him like he’s an alley cat that he’s trying to befriend. 

The omega sighs, taking in an apparently fortifying breath right after because what he says next is brave as all hell, “I’m also sorry for not seeing you so much lately…” 

“It’s all good, you-” 

Bucky shakes his head, looking down at where their thighs are pressing into one another's, “no. No, I mean-” he licks his lips before taking the bottom one between his teeth for a second, “I mean, I just, I could’ve still seen you. I… I just needed  some space for my sake.  _ Only my sake. _ I- uhh, it's my issue. Not yours." Steve tries to interrupt again but he’s cut off not literally but Bucky, he’s just knocked back onto his proverbial ass by the fucking look that’s in those eyes when he finally does look up at him, his lower lip is trembling a little along with the emotion shining in the glassy lakes of his eyes. The only thing he wants in that moment is to be able to openly crumble at his feet instead of crumble internally, he wants to be able to wrap up Bucky like a newborn just to keep him close and safe, and he wants to kiss his forehead more than anything else he’s ever wanted before. 

It’s scary-

Knowing that he can want someone  _ so bad.  _

Bucky’s words turn heavy with his emotion rather than having the breathiness that clouded around them before, making them seem like they were made of blue cotton candy, fragile but full of meaning. They wash over Steve like a tide, sweeping him out to the ocean and drowning him in the knowledge that Bucky wants to share with him. The knowledge that he’s  _ willing _ to share with him. He starts over with their conversation saying that he’s sorry for needing space but that he felt like he was depending on Steve too much and that he knows he has other friends that he should have also been spending time with because they probably were a lot better for him than him based on the fact that they probably weren’t getting through break-ups by doing nothing but paying attention to someone else to get away and eating their weight in food that still wasn’t quite as heavy as their emotions. He also claims that he assumed that he would’ve been enjoying the space because all that comes from hanging around him is work, emotional and otherwise with him having to cook so much for him and that he was just trying to do what he needed to do. Steve opens his mouth to argue vehemently about how it is not work to be around Bucky, and, okay, yeah he does cook for him a lot but that he doesn’t mind in the slightest (only if he knew how he actually felt about that). But then Bucky sees his face and starts to go into another downward spiral of talking about how, okay, he’s apparently wrong with the whole he’s-the-only-one-getting-something-from-their-friendship, looking more and more guilty by the second.

“Bucky,” Steve steadiest him, interrupting him intentionally, getting his other hand up to touch his chest carefully while the one that’s been draped over him keeps up at it’s hopefully comforting rub. Bucky inhales, jagged and thick. Steve realizes Bucky’s own hands are shaking when he brings them up to scrub over his eyes, half-laughing as he chokes out, “I’m a mess.” 

“Nah,” he offers but doesn’t continue because he doesn’t want Bucky to not get something out that he needs to put it out there. Bucky inhales and exhales a few times, huffing something under his breath after the fifth pattern of breathing. “Huh?” Steve asks, jostling him a little as he tightens the grip his arm has on him, bringing him in even closer, his brain still staying on the comment about how much “work” it must be for him to feed him all of the time.  _ Too bad you can’t tell him he’s dead wrong with that, _ something wicked and petulant tells him. 

“Nothing,” Bucky claims, his voice dull but off, sounding better but not yet normal. Steve pats his chest twice and peels his hand off of him, fighting the magnetic force of his body to Bucky’s. 

Bucky doesn’t keep up the pretense of  _ nothing _ for long at all. 

Not that Steve minds. He does want to hear what’s going on with him. 

A deep inhale starts Bucky’s words, which even though he hears it with his own two ears still as he speaks Steve gets concerned that he might run out of oxygen mid minni rant, “did you know I gained literally thirty pounds, Steve, I’m-” Bucky’s low volume makes him sound even more horrified by himself, by his confession, “I… I know,” Bucky sniffles, barely stopping to even do that, but obviously trying not to cry all of the sudden and gathering his wits apparently. Because then he just spits out, "no alpha wants an omega that they can't pick up. One that looks like they could take care of them rather than someone who’s fit to be taken care of and protected. That’s, that’s- it’s not somebody  _ anyone _ wants. Not women. Not men. Not anybody else who’s an alpha- I only like alphas, Steve. No one- no one wants an omega who outweighs them when they’re an alpha. And the other week I saw… I saw, I. I saw Her. She didn't even look at my face.” Bucky sounds almost like he’s begging for him to understand, hysterical, “she just looked me up and down and made this  _ face.  _ Like she was disgusted, like, like she looked smug. Like she knew she was right to break up with me." Bucky's full, pretty bottom lip trembles more as does his body, kept under his arm still. Steve’s resolve to not just kiss him to stop his ridiculous fears from continuing to pour out of him is quickly crumbling, disappearing dangerously fast, he just wants to touch him more, to wrap him up tighter and to be allowed to reassure him that he's the most gorgeous creature he's ever seen. He wants to take away every one of those thoughts from him with words and actions. He wants to tell him and show him tha-

"I'm… I’m gross, Steve."

Steve finds himself actually reeling back more than a little bit, as if he's been slapped. His mouth is hanging open, uselessly, gaping at Bucky’s admission because he’s never, NEVER even had any thought that’s within a hundred miles of that. Never. Bucky's just staring at his hands. He doesn't notice, he doesn’t see his visceral reaction. Or he doesn’t make note of it if he does feel the way he pulls away and shutters, he just keeps pouring everything in his head out into their laps, "I need to lose weight and it's a pure compliment to your talent and skill with baking that I need to stop seeing you all the time so I can do it. If I did I’d, I’d- I would just get heavier Steve. I don’t want that. You don’t want that." He chuckles bitterly, nearly silently, and continues on with his emotional speech that's tearing Steve to pieces that are too small to be seen by the human eye. He’s so caught up in feeling for Bucky that he doesn’t catch that he thinks  _ Steve  _ doesn’t want him either. "It's different for you. You're a guy  _ and _ an alpha.  _ And  _ you don’t eat most of the things you bake because, I guess, you care more about giving it to other people. It's easy for you to keep fit, not me. I can't… I… " 

Bucky does not attempt to finish. 

Steve moves without moving. Tugging Bucky as close as he can with desperate fingers before untangling his arm from over Bucky’s shaking shoulders in favor of planting both of his hands on Bucky’s cheeks. Making him look up at him by darting one of his hands under his chin before it comes back up to its earlier position. Somehow neither of them are crying; the smaller omega’s eyes are steeled with upset and what he believes to be the truth but upon their meeting of his own they melt a little, he knows there’s only horror in his own eyes. His brain is screaming for him to speak but his lips have been struck dumb for the moment. 

“Bucky… no.” Is all that will come out of him for what feels like years. Laced with desperation and all of his complex emotions that’re practically unnamable. 

But when more words do start coming out of him with that cry denial they don’t stop coming, one second he can’t breathe against the weight of everything that’s contained within his head and the next second he’s stumbling his way through his own confession, skipping ahead of himself when his mouth can’t keep up with the tangled line of logic circling his head. His mouth accidentally or purposefully - he honestly had no idea how he had planned to make him feel better, he just started rambling - takes the opportunity to flounder it’s way through a divulgence of having always,  _ always,  _ being captivated by him. Of having had the most fucking difficult time ever keeping Bucky at the arms length of the friendzone. Of not letting all the compliments and praise he always wanted to shower him with out. His thumbs rub over Bucky’s cheekbones as he tells him with every bit of certainty he has inside of his body and some that he does that he means that truthfully, both before and after his break-up. Before and after he’s gained weight. 

Bucky’s eyes flash with something he can’t catch before they fill with tears, masking whatever flew through them, “really?” He asks, painfully shy and quiet. 

And it sets something off inside of Steve, some firecracker that he buried or forgot about and suddenly he’s basically yelling that,  _ yeah, yes! He’s always felt that for him.  _ He feels like a pup on Christmas morning, mourning some toy that he didn’t get. But then he’s hurtling past that and into the fact that the number Bucky put to his body means nothing to Steve but that he’s been taken care of and that the only reason it caught him off guard was because of the way Bucky presented the number to him. A single tear falls from Bucky’s eyes when he tells him that it physically  _ hurt _ to hear him tear himself apart like that. But if it meant anything to him that even though every time they’re together he stares at him whenever possible he didn’t think it was that much. He’s beautiful with the extra weight. He’s beautiful without it. Steve tells him, tripping over his own tongue that he’s so fucking pretty. He’s so  _ everything _ . He doesn’t need to worry about any of his looks because he’s got him wrapped right around his finger. Tightly. 

“Did you know that the first time you came into the shop I nearly fucking fainted because you smell so good?” He has yet to let Bucky stop looking at him, he’s still cupping his cheeks, Bucky shakes his head. Pink overtaking his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “It’s true.” Steve whispers, “then, when I went out to help you I thought-” he laughs at himself, “I thought I was hallucinating because I thought that there wasn’t anyway in hell or in heaven that you were a real person. I kept thinking that you were an angel.  _ I still think you’re an angel all of the time. _ ” Bucky’s lower lip is back to trembling and his eyes aren’t meeting Steve’s anymore. He’s looking just past him, swallowing heavily. 

“I stayed up all night that night after you came in because I couldn’t stop thinking about you and… and I felt sick with it because I felt so guilty about thinking about you like that. I  _ knew  _ you had a partner. I did. I didn’t miss that part of the conversation- I just,” Steve shrugs, helpless against himself. Bucky’s back to looking at him, searching his face, so Steve keeps talking while he has him, “then when you came over after She broke up with you I kept thinking over and over and over again whether or not I knew you liked men. I was gleaning every conversation I ever had with you to see if I could figure that out and then I wanted to, like, punch myself,” Bucky chuckles quietly, “because I knew there was no way that was fair to you. You needed time. But I couldn’t, uhh, I couldn’t leave you alone.” 

Silence falls between them, blanketing them. 

Steve lets his palms fall from Bucky’s face under the blanket, already missing the feeling of his jaw and cheek under his hand even though he’s still got his hands on him. One on the side of his neck and the other over his shoulder. He makes sure to just keep his hand on his neck. Not his wrist. 

“I-” Bucky pauses, “If I wasn’t…” he trails off but Steve understands. He felt at least some of the same primal pull that he did, the pulling of a strongly possible compatible mate, he just already had somebody. 

Just that little admission gets Steve going again, spilling out more of his feelings in a much too intense way that’s probably making the younger man uncomfortable. Maybe a lot more than uncomfortable- he didn’t sign up for this spilling of heart. And it’s not until it’s out of his mouth and Bucky has shot his head up to look at him, probably giving himself actual whiplash, that he realizes what he’s said… he’s accidentally let it slip that he stopped dating after the third time he came into the shop because he was the only one he was thinking about, the only one he could think about, he didn’t think it would be fair to get with anyone else when he was that preoccupied. 

“Do?” His grey-blue eyes look frightened by whatever he’s trying to ask, his lips too, seeing that they need more coaxing from his brain to bring the words forth once more. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times. His brows knit together. “Do you  _ still _ feel like that?”

“ _ God, _ yeah,” Steve chokes out. Answering way too fucking fast and honestly. “I-” Steve feels his own cheeks pinken under the weight of Bucky’s eyes, he didn’t mean exactly to do _ that _ , “I, yeah, I… Buck-” Steve isn’t sure what he’s actually going to say it until after he’s processed his own words through his ears, hearing them meet the air between them, “you weren’t actually my type when you first came into the shop.” Ah.  _ Shit.  _

He pauses, hoping Bucky will just get what he means by that and he’ll be able to shut up. That there won’t be any needed further information to give over. He’s… he’s never actually admitted that out loud before. Just in his head and just through Sam giving him good natured shit for his little,  _ fixation,  _ if you will. 

He gets no such luck. No understanding. So he adds, “you’re more my usual type now.” 

Bucky’s mouth falls into a very cute, very charming, perfect little ‘o’ shape. His muscles falling lax with his shock, his rapid-fire understanding of what he meant by those stupid, jumbled, vague words. 

“Sorry,” Steve starts after a good minute of _ just  _ staring at each other, neither of them speaking or really actually making eye contact, just looking around each other’s faces and darting their eyes away from each other if they do make contact. Somehow it isn’t awkward though. Just unexplainably tense but comfortable at the same time. “I’m sorry if any of that, y’know, makes you uncomfortable- knowing that I wanted you when…” Steve takes in another breath, watching Bucky look at him with some sense of certainty, some clarity, “I tried to keep us just friends because I didn’t want to push anything onto y-”

Bucky’s lips are lush and warm and sweet. And they’re on his own. 

Then they’re gone. Just a peck.

Steve isn’t even sure if he’s gotten to kiss back or not, it was so fast. His lips there and then gone, within the snap of fingers. 

Bucky keeps staring at his lips while he talks as if he’s entranced and wanting to just continue kissing him but needing to get more out first, “really? But-” 

Steve cuts him off this time, leaning into his space and bringing one of his hands up to cup his jaw again, his thumb automatically going to trace his cheekbone. Bucky’s tongue barely flicks out to wet his already shimmering lips and entice him further before their mouths collide. Just as magical and unspeakable as the first time. Steve’s breath gets stuck in his chest when he feels Bucky lean into the cradle of his palm at the same time that he tilts his head up further. Sealing their lips further together and humming softly. The submissive undertones of his actions have Steve kissing him harder, not yet daring to ask for the permission to slip his tongue in between his plush lips, but instead rumbling back and then pulling apart for just a breath. Diving back in for one last little kiss.

His hands stay planted on Bucky’s face, magnetized there, and for what feels like an entire rotation of the earth their breaths become shared. The same air. The same pattern. The same depth. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if their legs and waists had begun to harden into stone as they sit, bathing in each other's presence, neither of them unwilling to move even if it means they’ll die like this. Together. 

“I like you,” Steve whispers, his fingers stirring back into motion. It’s not really what he wants to say but it’s close enough and it’s still too early for what he wants to say, so he settles. Relishing in the creeping pastel color climbing onto his face and the astonishment stirring the surface of his eyes, making waves in the clear pools of them. Steve can see his words reflected in those depths and he can just see them beginning to bloom along Bucky’s lips but he doesn’t need to hear them, “I like  _ you,  _ I don’t care what you look like. I mean- yeah, our first meeting was based entirely off of your looks but I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking for  _ your  _ looks. If that makes sense,” he feels a growing sense of urgency to scratch the back of his neck and take it all back. Not because he doesn’t mean every word of it though. Alphas aren’t supposed to do things like this. Make huge emotional confessions. “Yeah. I like how you look now,” he lets his voice dip into a whisper that makes the both of them burn hotter over their cheeks, “ _ I really like it.”  _ He clears his throat, moving on and moving back into something that's not a whisper, “but I don’t care. Do what you like and I’ll follow.” 

Bucky mouths the word “really?” His voice apparently gone with the buildup of astonishment. 

Steve nods and pulls Bucky’s face closer to his, ignoring the quick burst of giggles that comes from him in favor of giving him another peck. Going on without pulling as far away because his next words are only appropriate for such an intimate space, “when you came over for that week,” he doesn’t want to bring Her back up so directly, “I was running around so unorganized, y’know, the whole deal with the bed- because I was just coming off of a super early rut. I wasn’t exactly expecting it. I was washing my sheets and had to clean the house because-”

“Okay, why-” 

Halfway into his interrupting query those gorgeous fucking eyes go wide. His mouth falls again into that little ‘o’ once more, “wasss, was I-” he doesn’t finish. 

“Yeah,” he nods, licking his lip, “yeah, you triggered my rut even though you smelled like another alpha, even through my suppressants. You triggered me because I was fucking thinking about you  _ all  _ of the time. Even though, y’know, you smelled different than you do now, it didn’t matter to my body, my body just understood that you were an omega that was seeming available because I don’t think most alphas go so crazy over just one omega-” 

Bucky’s lips quirk into a smile as if the confession makes him feel special, he grabs Steve’s face right back, “you tricked your own body into mating sickness?” He asks too smug to actually be serious; he’s just giving him shit like usual. 

“Yeah.” He offers, serious but turning his head to kiss the underside of his palm where it had been on his face in a mirror image. Bucky gapes at him. No words follow. “I’m pretty sure, yeah.” 

The second admission gets words out of Bucky, “I didn’t even know that that could happen to alphas, I thought it was just an omega thing, getting mating sickness…” 

“It can…” Steve removes his hands from their cradle over Bucky’s face and jaw, gently caressing his skin as he lifts them, bringing his hands to the omega’s wrists, lowering them from his face to his neck. Leaving them there to loop around his neck. His own hands go back to Bucky’s jaw, one of them slipping around from the hinge of his jaw to the back of his head, cupping the base of his skull. Steve pulls Bucky forward into his chest, murmuring into his lips, “with the right person.” Before finally leaning into the mere centimeter separating their mouths, concurring Bucky’s easily. His submission flowing easily into his own natural rhythm of his own kissing as if they’d done this a million times before. As if in another life they were together already, as if they’d lived another secret lifetime being mates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was acceptable and I can't wait for y'all to read the next chapter, I think you'll all enjoy yourselves ;)


	8. Saccharine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves.   
> This is 16,000 words of pure smut. 
> 
> Also, happy Thanksgiving lmao.

Bucky gasps into Steve’s mouth in the same moment that Steve nips his plush, slick lower lip, responding almost before he could’ve felt the quick pulse of hurt flashing through his mouth and taking root in his belly. Steve licks the surface of his lip lavishly, soothing the hurt and selfishly stoking the fire growing bright and heavy inside him. Listening to the equally delicious noise that pours out of his lips, differing in that it’s not a gasp but a fully bloomed moan. It curls around Steve’s mind like a physical object, pushing cotton and fire into his ears. Making it impossible for him to do anything but kiss Bucky with even more fervor. Everything is lighting him up so much and so easily, just their lips meeting and exploring, that it’s threatening to burn all of him to ashes with the expanding flames. His responding sounds make Steve’s hindbrain come to life even more as his chest vibrates with a growl. He figures he must be glowing with how willing and sensitive the younger omega is turning out to be- making him feel about a hundred feet tall, being such a good alpha. The next sharp gasp cutting out of him has their teeth clinking together from the inelegant angle and-

Oh. 

What  _ the fuck _ are they  _ doing _ . 

Steve quickly becomes aware of how separated they are despite the clear fact that they’re making out, being dragged out of the hypnotic movement of Bucky’s lips forcefully. He needs to get him closer even though he’s not sure when they got this close. Or when they started making out rather than just trading emotion fueled kisses. If what they’re doing can be considered making out yet. He just, he needs-

Bucky isn’t anywhere near close to being in his lap the way he should be while they do this. He’s still tucked into his side, warm and safe, and  _ yeah _ , a while ago Steve wouldn’t have dreamed of making him move. But. Now it’s all he wants to pull him forward and have his weight pressing him down and pressing against him. He wants to feel  _ all  _ of him. He wants to be able to do more than hug him closer with one arm and explore his front with the other. Half turned toward him. 

“C’mere,” Steve puffs into Bucky’s mouth, pulling back barely at all, letting their lips drag smoothly against each other. Shivers march down his spine in tandem with Bucky, electrifying him, if the sudden tremors overtaking him are anything to go by. Quickly taking advantage of the way his ragged verbalization sets Bucky off balance - making his mouth drop obediently open - Steve licks into his slack mouth. Tasting him and craving desperately to reach all of the places he can within the omega. He wants to touch every inch of him. He wants to  _ ruin  _ every inch of him, to make sure every part of him is stamped onto the omega. That every inch of his skin has his scent, his touch, burned into it. 

The hand that’s not around his shoulder falls to his hip tugging him until Bucky turns further, laying one of his legs loosely over his lap. Immediately Steve tugs him again, “closer, baby,” he instructs, not even pulling away this time, just talking into his mouth. Bucky whines thinly and Steve swallows the noise, feeling that part of Bucky meld with him, he smells overwhelmingly perfect. A string of saliva connects their lips, his mouth is watering so badly. 

The arm that was around his shoulder uses the new angle to pull Bucky even closer, incidentally pulling his crotch right into his hip. 

Bucky moans, sugary and thick. Steve growls in return- feeling, even through the layers of fabric between them the heat of his body, the sweet little bulge of his dick. Steve’s knot throbs- he wonders if Bucky can feel it against his inner thigh. He wants to swallow Bucky  _ whole _ . He wants to get down on the floor and spread Bucky’s legs wide as he keeps sitting on the couch, he wants to take all of Bucky’s perfect handful of a dick in his mouth. He wants to make the omega ruin his jeans and his couch. He wants him dripping and begging for his knot. He  _ wants _ everything the omega has; he’s  _ hungry _ for everything he is. 

Still though, Bucky hasn’t climbed into his lap. Steve abandons his lips, dragging his own down to Bucky’s softened jaw, staining his face with their mixed saliva, biting on his jaw and proclaiming, “I want you so bad, Buck.” The brunette whines, humping forward into his hip. Steve feels the soft flesh of his thigh tense, squeezing his waist. His eyes nearly roll back into his skull. He wants nothing more than to wear the evidence of Bucky’s pleasure. He wants ringed bruises around his waist from those fucking thighs digging into him. He wants to feel the layers of plush, soft flesh squeezing him, underlying with the lean muscle he’s got that was way more obvious when they first met. Bucky tilts his head all the way back, gasping, humping forward again and Steve realizes he’s still growling. Probably making Bucky react in such a lovely submissive way because of it. He can’t stop the constant noise, he can’t control it, it’s just overflowing out of him, rushing through his veins and over his skin like a waterfall. 

His lips find the corner of Bucky’s jaw, laving attention there until the skin turns pink and Bucky’s breath is hitching in his throat, nearing something of a choke. A quiet, constant wrecked noise underlying their atmosphere, dripping out from his upturned lips. Steve chases the vibrations of his breathing that have claimed his throat, kissing his way down the front, nipping gently when a particularly sweet noise gets its way out of him, like when he licks his Adam's Apple. Stopping and making sure those quiet noises bloom into full out moans. Giving him as much pleasure as he can.

Then he’s level with his scent gland.

The second his tongue and lips and teeth meet the sensitive flesh Bucky’s hands snap into his hair from wherever they had been hovering before, tangling his long, pianist fingers in it and pulling. Finding the longest part of his hair to get a good grip. Steve rumbles, his gut clenching and jaw tightening. 

He doesn’t dare yet actually nip at the gland in a tease of a bite but he does drag his teeth over the prominent vein running just on the outside of the area, feeling his omega’s pulse pound through it, fluttering like a hummingbird. Bucky doesn’t even grind into him. He doesn’t grab harder at his hair. He goes stock-still. Steve flicks a quick look up at him, his breath still fanning over Bucky’s skin while he witnesses the taken apart look painting his face. So newly created over his features, that it’s still dripping paint. His mouth is hanging open, his eyes shut, his cheeks are flaming, and he’s not even breathing. He’s entered a state of suspended animation. Basking in the flowing pleasure, attempting to process it but apparently failing and freezing instead. 

Steve sits up, following his instincts by cupping one of his hands over his scent gland, rubbing the calluses on his fingers over the delicate skin, while his lips become otherwise occupied. He drags the side of his thumbnail over the gland on a whim then, kissing the cleft of Bucky’s chin at the same time. 

Bucky doesn’t just moan. He  _ moans.  _

He opens up all of the sudden- blooming against him and unfolding. His eyelashes quiver against his cheeks, his eyes open for a fraction of a second before shutting even tighter, his eyebrows knit together, his lips drop even more open and his mouth seeks out Steve’s own. Tipping his head down to find his mouth. Bucky pants into his mouth, not even really attempting to try and kiss him, just making more little noises into his mouth and shaking like a leaf as he keeps pouring attention over the sensitive spot. He’s melted. No longer is he  _ melting,  _ he’s already finished it seems, he’s completely melted now. Steve uses his lax muscles to his advantage, finally pulling Bucky into his lap, not paying any fucking attention to the fact that he’s a grown man. He wants him too desperately to stop and consider such petty things as pulled or strained muscles. 

Another earth-shattering moan rips out of Bucky’s throat. Steve’s brain understands the sentiment. Pleasure crashes through him, not even in waves, all of it just hits him at once. One second he’s buzzing with pleasure, blurring around the edges with it and the next he’s being consumed by it, burning up with it. And, yeah, Steve thought the brunette was melted before but then his head is crashing into his chest like his muscles have spontaneously given up and he’s panting so hard it sounds like he’s hyperventilating. Their hips are slotted together like this. Steve can  _ feel  _ the intoxicating heat of Bucky against his cock, his knot  _ throbs  _ once again and Bucky keens like he felt it through their inconvenient clothing. His hands, with minds of their own, pull his hips. Getting them so tight against each other that Steve’s got no idea where Bucky ends and he himself begins. 

He throbs and swells impossibly with more blood and Bucky does the same. He rumbles with instincts puppeting his vocal cords because his conscience is elsewhere and Bucky purrs or whimpers too. He thrusts forward, jostling Bucky and Bucky snaps back into place, digging his fingers into him and twitching; emulating and returning every movement of his own. They’re in complete sync. His scent rising right along with Bucky’s, intertwining and becoming one scent that’s got his vision turning into something that’s undefined and melting together. Making him woozy with how strong it is, his mouth watering still. 

Then it’s apparently his own turn to melt as his greedy palms get the best of him and pull the omega  _ even closer _ . 

_ Bucky’s already wet against him. _

There’s tacky dampness already gathered around the seat of his pants and it’s spilling onto him. Steve would give anything to ensure that it’s pressed into his jeans and his fucking skin. He wants it. The slickness between them is heating his thighs, his knot pulses painfully in response. Something shakes loose in his chest and he finds himself growling into Bucky’s temple, nosing up his face and biting at his lip harder than he means to while his hands explore the substantial curve of his ass. Digging his fingers in until Bucky rocks forward helplessly, keening. The sound of his wet jeans clinging and folding to his body makes Steve act like a dog being called for dinner. 

“Fuck, lookit you,” Steve groans, kneading his ass because he can, unknowing if he actually hears his own voice alter vaguely as he speaks into Bucky’s sinful mouth or if his brain is turning useless on him already. Bucky squeaks like a spell has been broken or cast upon him, leaning into his body while he crumbles in on himself, a flush spilling out over his skin like wine over a carpet. Steve rumbles in his hair, unable to pry his mouth away from the honestly bubbling up his throat, “you’re so pretty, so pretty. You look so good,” Bucky makes a quiet sound. Now undoubtedly shier. Steve can’t have that. 

His hands keep contact with Bucky's body the entire time they travel up from his ass to his back, then from his back to his shoulders, his shoulder to his biceps. The invisible current between them ebbs slightly, slowing to something of a lazy river than white-water rapids. The back of his neck is hot, like he’s blushing even there, as Steve strokes the skin reverently with one of his hands, lowering his voice to nothing but an undefined mumble, “you okay? Do you want to stop? Or slow down? Or…” he trails off, not knowing where to go. He doesn’t know what he did, or  _ if  _ he even did something. 

Those mesmerizing lips don’t move, his head doesn’t raise, his scent doesn’t change from the way it did when he came to wherever he’s arrived currently, he doesn’t tense or squirm. Steve doesn’t know what to make of the reaction- or, the non-reaction. 

“Buck?” 

A shy kiss is pressed to his neck, just above his scent gland, those sinful lips like silk against his skin. Ripples of heat shutter through him like the surface of a pond, just teasing him of what might come and ruffling his façade of calm. A sigh glides through his lips as the back of his head becomes familiar with the back of the couch, he tilts his head to the side until the pulling of the tendons in his neck add to the gentle cacophony building within him. Giving Bucky more room to work even though the position makes his voice continue on in a sigh rather than the command he was shooting for before, aiming to get the omega’s attention. “We don’t have to do anything, yh-” 

A gritty groan tumbles from his throat and electricity pools in his guts, churning, making his muscles tighten as Bucky’s lips make themselves acquainted with his scent gland. Not teasing anymore. No longer whisper soft. His fingers dig back into Bucky’s soft form hard enough to probably bruise, “sh-shit.” Another groan rips it’s way out of him as his teeth graze him, his throat dries. 

“Fuck!” He growls roughly when Bucky dares more than he himself had, nipping at the skin rather than heartily mouthing at him. Waves of pleasure tug at his skeleton, threatening to make him come tumbling down. Bucky startles with his loud expression, apparently not having planned on pulling that reaction from him and then his scent  _ does _ change, pushing over into something heavy with arousal and embarrassment. 

Steve’s going to fucking  _ drown  _ in his scent. 

It feels nearly too thick to breathe through, his vision has been tie-dyed with black and sparkling shooting stars. There’s no blood going to his fucking brain. Every bit of his blood is pooling in his cock and balls and saturating him with buzzing arousal. Keeping his mind fuzzy and his body ready. 

“Sorry,” his gentle heated breath licks over his neck like a mist, clinging to him and making him shiver, “I… I uhh, got, I. Uh. I kinda got lost there… you smell really good” He sheepishly offers, making Steve come to terms with the fact that he probably has sweat through his scent blockers over the course of the day, but then he starts squirming in his lap, placing incrementally different amounts of toe-curling pressure on his cock and there’s nothing that he can recall. There’s nothing he knows that isn’t the weight of Bucky on top of him. Nothing he knows that isn’t purely him. Steve’s hands plant themselves on his hips, holding him in one fucking place before he looses his goddamn mind and actually tries to bite him. Bucky’s eyes blow wide, panting breaths cut out of his raw looking lips. Evidently enjoying being held down. “S’rry,” he says again, slurring his words a little, those wide eyes drooping down, heavily lidded. 

“You, uhh, still okay with this?” Steve forces out, barely steeling himself against the dripping, apparently partially scent-drunk, very willing omega sitting right in his fucking lap. 

_ Dripping onto him _ , his instincts helpfully remind him. 

The brunette’s eyes tighten into something of confusion, his lips pulling into a slight frown, “huh?”

“You- you froze a little there,” his fingertips drum over his hips as he forces himself to stop clutching at the omega like he might disappear at any moment, “I just wanted to make sure you’re still okay?” He clarifies himself, “that you still want to do this. With me.” 

Bucky’s eyes shoot down to his hands, to Steve’s lap really, like he’s just realizing where he’s seated. Steve thinks if he had cat ears (and  _ fuck  _ that would be so adorable that he’d lose his fucking mind, easy) they’d be pressed flat against his head. An involuntary whimper slides out of him- not a fun whimper either. Steve takes his hands away like he’s been burned which results in an even less enjoyable whimper from the omega. Their eyes connect and the confusion piling up inside him doubles. He sees the same in Bucky’s eyes. 

So, not a “ _ real _ ” reaction per say, then, just one of instinct or one of a deeper part of his mind that’s not in the limelight currently. Bucky’s hair is exorbitantly soft as his fingers explore the chocolate strands, making an effort to not mess up the beautifully messy bun he has going on, just scratching at the base of his skull, stretching his fingers out and curling them back down. Giving him something to ground himself on. 

“You don’t have to say yes,” Steve whispers into his cheek, “don’t say yes, not if you don’t want to-” 

“No,” he cuts into his endless sentence, “I want to.” 

Bucky sounds certain but he doesn’t look certain, well, anywhere beyond his eyes don’t look certain, his eyes hold something deep and sure veiled under the desire laid out plainly for Steve to admire. But his lips have been left slightly open and quirked in a way that is gorgeous as always but not definite. His shoulders are curled in slightly. His legs have squeezed themselves tighter around his waist as if he’s trying to shut them, to be less vulnerable and spread, but he can’t when his body is in the way. He’s-

“Baby,” he coos, Bucky melts just at the pet name, his lips tug with a joyful pull of his facial muscles, “you’re okay. This is okay.” He pauses to breathe, “this is what I want, I want you sitting here in my lap. I want you like this. I pulled you here, y’know?” If Bucky understands his face doesn’t show it, however, the rest of his body has become more relaxed. The toughness of his tensed muscles have faded away, leaving him soft and pliant under his hands. He takes the plunge, gentling the omega, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck in a vague scruffing motion, “ _ relax.  _ You’re okay, you don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to, you can just tell me to not or ask to stop. I’ll-”

Bucky gasps a little, leaning back into the hold on his neck like he’s just noticed it and letting go of everything so suddenly like he didn’t know what was off - like he didn’t know anything was off - and Steve fixed it for him. He did. 

He’s a good alpha. 

He could be a better alpha too, he thinks, his lips jumping ahead of his brain as he speaks softly to his omega, barely even whispering, sparing a hand to tilt his head up before it goes back to join his other, stroking and touching every inch of him. Telling him that he’s gorgeous and perfect, pretty and that he smells so good. Saying that he deserves to be happy. Repeating those promises of making sure this goes how he wants it, he just has to say the word. 

But everything inside  Steve grinds to a halt when he hears a mumbled, "maybe… maybe not, uhm, this. I'm too, too" his sweet, shy voice breaks along with Steve's heart, "heavy for this. I-" his voice does something sad, a little click coming from his throat, “I don’t want you to be uncomfy…” 

“ _ Bucky,”  _ escapes from his lips before he even really, truly registers Bucky’s words. Then he does. And he flies apart into a million tiny pieces of himself, his tongue too disassembled to come anywhere close to having an actual answer to solve that worry. He doesn’t know how to fix an anxiety that he never,  _ ever  _ would’ve even dreamed of thinking of. He doesn’t… he doesn’t know what to do besides growl at him and pull him so close that the zippers and buttons and bones from each of them bite into them equally. Getting him so tight against him that it hurts a little. He doesn’t fucking care. 

“No.” He chokes out. 

“No, no,” he says it again, hoping that Bucky can decipher what the hell he’s trying to get at here. His instincts puppet him, peeling all of his logic back and replacing it with crude movements and emotions, making him tip Bucky’s jaw back for him. Nosing at the soft yet still sharp plain of him and then nipping at his neck, growling into his scent gland. Reddening the delicate skin and lapping away the hurt before single words start to pour out of him, eventually adding up to a sentence that does make sense.  _ You’re not too heavy, you never would be. You’re perfect. Mine.  _

Bucky moans or keeps moaning. 

He’s too caught up in the rotation between  _ claim  _ and  _ soothe _ lighting up his brain, keeping his regular self pinned back behind the instincts roaring within his hindbrain. He’s too caught up in making sure that Bucky understands even if he didn’t hear his words, cupping his ass and grabbing at him. Making sure to dig his fingers into his plush body and telling him through gruff noises and words that are hardly comprehensible that he’s perfect. He feels so good. He looks so good. He wouldn’t want him any other way. He’s too caught up in dragging his fingers along the insides of his thighs. Feeling him up. He’s too caught up in kissing his way up from his exposed collarbone to the broad front of his throat to his chin to the slick cushion of his lips. Praising every inch of skin that he can get under his mouth with the same devotion that he’s showing to every inch of skin that’s under his chaotically moving palms. He’s too caught up in getting through to his omega to notice the pulsing, unbearably strong arousal and pleasure coursing through his body. He’s got no idea how all of those feelings can be held in just his body- there’s too much, too much goodness to possibly fit inside himself. He might explode. 

He’s too caught up in catching one of Bucky’s wrists and navigating his pianists hand down to his crotch so he can feel how hard and hot and throbbing he is for him. Bucky keens and throws his head down onto his shoulder. Something inside of him snaps at the instantaneous reaction, at such a  _ Bucky  _ reaction. 

“ _ See how much I want you? _ ” He groans, helplessly bucking up into the cup of his hand, hot syrup pouring into his veins, slowing his thoughts to a teasing crawl. Threatening to spontaneously turn into gasoline and light up when Bucky gets his hands on his bare skin, nothing but a match to a flame. Setting him ablaze and stripping him down to nothing but heat. “ _ See how much I love you like this? _ ” He growls into Bucky’s cheek, his hands twitching restlessly against his hip and thigh. Digging into him while he feels as if they’re melting together, “ _ I have no idea what you’re talking about, omega. You’re gorgeous. Unreal. Perfect. Everything.”  _ Steve can’t shake the rumble that shakes his chest like an earthquake, not when he lets Bucky’s wrist go and the omega uses his new freedom to keep palming him. Curling his fingers around the bulge of his cock cutting through the fabric of his pants as if he’s trying to get a feel for how thick he is. His voice constricts into a gravel rough whisper with a side of too much honesty, “ _ I want you so bad I can’t control myself.”  _

If Bucky hadn’t been broken before by his convincing that certainly did break him. Getting through to him and making him relax the last, miniscule amount. 

It also gets him to return to those aborted little movements that force their hips together, humping into each other and pulling pleasure as well as oh so many explicit, core-clenching noises from each other. The only reason Steve is aware of what noises come out of himself and not from Bucky is because all of the omega’s noises are high pitched and feminine in a way that has his head spinning, lacking any blood at all. He doesn’t know who’s moving who though, all he knows is that someone’s hips and moving. Maybe it’s both of their hips. Maybe they’ve already fallen perfectly in sync, maybe it doesn’t fucking matter because it seems all of Bucky’s pleasure is also becoming his. Every gasp breathed sharp and erotic over his lips melts and transforms into a groan that barrels it’s way through him like a person crashing through a wall rather than going through the door. Every moan that tumbles from Bucky’s lips pulls a growl out of him with the sharp spike of arousal it sends through him. 

They are one. No one has their own pleasure. They’re sharing everything, tugging and pulling and pushing and dancing perfectly together. The rocking world of their rapture isn’t even ebbing and flowing- no. There is no ebbing. Just flowing. Just the white water rapids of pleasure crashing into both of them sweeping them up and making Steve forget to close his mouth, his throat drying in direct contrast to Bucky’s gaped lips that are shining with drool and calling to him like the most intense siren. Seducing him into kissing him, into fucking his tongue into his willing mouth, until his lungs are on fire and begging just for one gasp of air to keep him from blacking out. 

Bucky’s jaw trembles under his fingers and his throat vibrates with the keening wail that’s stripped from it and Steve can no longer hold his involuntary commentary inside himself. He’s choking in a half-inhaling, half-exhaling breath and starts growling again instantly as his lips fall into words that are fever hot, “need to get my mouth on your cunt, pretty, I wanna taste you _ so fucking bad _ .” 

Steve  _ feels  _ the ripples of electricity spearing his omega, his body tightening and tensing as the most gutted sound he’s heard from him enters the minuscule amount of space between their mouths. Steve swallows the noise hungrily and barely restrains from diving in and making himself at home inside of him in order to find more of them. He’s shaking, trembling with desire. Bucky crashes his mouth onto his, sputtering a little with the crude nature of his words. Their teeth meeting cruelly before the lushness of their quickly perfected technique takes over. Bucky pants into his mouth, puppyish and unreasonably attractive. Drawing him in even closer although surely that’s not possible without having something of himself inside of his now dripping, soaking cunt. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

He needs to get inside of him. He needs it so bad that he can’t keep it to himself. 

He’s curling his fingers tighter into his waist and hips and getting them up off of the couch. Lifting himself and tugging Bucky closer again a purely stupid move because of how tight they already are squished together but he can’t not do it. He needs him close. He wants him close. He wants to keep him so close that they aren’t individuals, he wants them as one. He wants- 

Bucky squeaks, high and unguarded, catching up to their situation finally and realizing that he’s now off of the couch. He’s slow to realize, drowning in arousal. Squeezing and holding onto him tightly. His thighs locking around his waist and his ankles crossing behind his back. His face getting buried in his neck while his arms and hands tighten around his neck. 

“‘M not gonna drop you,” Steve murmurs, connecting the dots as he walks. Struggling to place where the hell he needs to go even though he’s in his own goddamn apartment. He’s so fucking caught up in the blazing body heat between them. In the damp sweat and slick sticking them together. Keeping them close enough to breathe in each other's air, to pant against each other's saliva soaked mouths. Speak of the slide of his lips on Bucky’s- all it’s doing is punching him harder in the cock and gut, making him  _ crave  _ to be dirtied up with his omega’s slick inside. He wants to taste him. He wants to have his face fucking covered. He wants to drown in his slick. He wants his own scent to be saturated and overpowered with the alluring, rich scent of his arousal. He wants to have  _ proof  _ consuming him that shows him that, yes,  _ yes,  _ his omega is attracted to him and desperate to have him. To take him inside of his body. Welcoming him. 

Steve nearly staggers with the thoughts pounding against his skull, begging to be verbalized, begging to be used to make him  _ even wetter _ for him. 

Instead he pushes Bucky into the nearest wall, not stopping to even figure out what wall it is, blinding shoving them against the innocent drywall and licking into Bucky’s mouth as deeply as he can - the slick, messy sounds of their kissing pooling in the aching throb of his balls - pulling away with a hungry whimper falling from the brunette as a few strings of saliva connect them still. Something in his hindbrain burns hotter and sharper with the knowledge of how filthy and messy and wrecked they both have become. And how much more messy and devastated they both could be.

He kisses Bucky as sweetly and purely as he can manage in the moment  it’s not very sweet but he tries okay , rumbling into his mouth and softly commanding, “baby, listen to me, ‘kay?” Bucky nods, slowly and a little drunkenly, but he does nod and his eyes meet his, so he pushes forward, “you’re everything I want.” Steve confesses and inhales, trying his hardest to simply take in more air and not saturate his brain with his tooth-rotting smell more, “You were everything I wanted when I met you. I fantasized about you then and I still fucking do. All of the time. Got it?” Steve clears his throat, attempting to do the same thing with his mind, “as in, like, you heard me say that, yeah? You don’t, don’t have to accept it  _ right now _ and stop feeling the way you do. Just tell me you processed some of that?” 

Bucky does as he asks after a moment of nothing. 

“Good,” Steve rewards him with a gentle but filthy kiss, his insides simmering. His own skin burns hotter as he licks his lips, “and I’ll tell you as many times as you wanna hear it.” He grabs for his thighs, shimmying them even higher on his waist, pressing harder against the wall, leaning more of his own weight onto Bucky. Keeping his hands there because he really isn’t joking about being obsessed with his more filled out figure, “I like this. I  _ love _ this. Love how you feel against me. Love how you look- I do.” He keeps their eyes locked the entire time, showing him he’s serious before he blinks and transitions to a sillier mood. Winking as outrageously as possible and offering up, "you're not heavy either, pretty omega, I don't  _ just  _ bake. I workout too… a lot. And will keep working out, wanna see you like this all the time.” 

Coming back to life, Bucky squeezes his biceps in turn and cheekily says, softly, "I figured."

It seems like all he does is blinks and he’s spinning them so that when they land on the bed he’s on his back and Bucky’s on top of him. They were talking and making out on the couch and then against the wall and now they’re probably going to do the same on the bed. Right along with even worse things; he’s gonna take Bucky apart piece by piece. 

Bucky curls into his chest, his sounds getting trapped between a gasp and a purr, his knees are underneath him for just a split second before his legs melt and spread. His melting makes their pelvis’ kiss again, sending a rush of lightning up his spine while Bucky stills completely, absorbed in his pleasure. His mouth is open and lax against the base of his neck, wetting his skin with heavy, damp exhales. Steve growls. His hands move on their own for the millionth time tonight, skirting down his shoulders and back before they find his ass. The round, healthy curve of it fitting perfectly against his hands, feeling even sweeter because of the wetness soaking his pants. 

And,  _ fuck.  _

_ His pants! _

Like a man possessed Steve gropes at Bucky, listening to his breathy sounds and barely containing his own wild reactions to each and every one of them, pulling him up higher by the crease of his ass that melts deliciously into thigh. Getting his dick pressed up against his abs, poorly containing his  _ very  _ alpha noises and reactions, making sure their lips are slotted together so they can pretend to do something as coordinated as kissing while he strips his omega. But first-

First he finds the waistband of his pants and slips his hands down the back of them with a pleasing amount of difficulty, knowing in the back of his mind that it’s only so difficult because he’s so fucking good at filling out their cut. He fears for a second when scrambling against the band of his boxers that he might rip his jeans- that’s how tight they are. Another deep, all-consuming growl works its way out of him. The feeling of his skin on Bucky’s is so good. So intoxicating. Bucky only chokes into his mouth, letting his jaw fall all the way open as he cries out. His eyes shut tightly and his muscles go limp. Heat curls deeper into his being and he doesn’t even register his lips moving, he just registers Bucky’s damn near fatal reaction to his words, “wanna get my mouth on this cunt-,” Steve can’t help himself from dipping the tip of his finger into Bucky’s puffy, burning entrance. Marveling at how wet he is even though the evidence of it is impossible to ignore with just how much slick there is dirtying him up. Bucky  _ wails,  _ “wanna get you on top of me.” He pauses to breathe, his lungs no longer taking the abuse as even more little sounds tumble from Bucky, feeding the gluttonous fire inside of him. His palms itch to slap Bucky’s bubble butt but with them squeezed into his pants (so much that it’s nearly, joyfully cutting off his circulation to his hands) but he can barely move them so he satiates himself by digging his fingers into him  _ hard.  _

_ “Want you to sit on my face, sweetheart.”  _

The brunette squirms and writhes above him like his body doesn't know how to respond to such a thing. Steve noses him, letting out his own noises and keeping Bucky in place while he works his hips up. Fighting his need to just spill into his pants and get relief from the hunger crawling up his spine and shredding up his chest. Uncurling him into just one straight line that only needs one thing. He just needs to cum. His knot aches, pulses, and fucking hurts with how bad it needs to be buried inside his omega. However- the need of his tongue is just as strong and when adding his need to please Bucky there’s no competition. None at all. 

“Whaddya say, omega?” Boils up and out of his chest. He can’t stay still any longer, his hips keep rolling and his fingers keep digging into his gorgeous flesh (hopefully leaving marks), his lips even have to keep on going. 

His omega doesn’t make a fucking sound he just pants harshly, mouth hanging open, and  _ stares  _ at him. Pressing their foreheads together. 

Steve can’t look away from the hypnotic sight. His eyes are blown so wide and so black that there’s nothing there but desire and his own reflection in those glossy pools. The sharp liquid smoke of his eye color has been swallowed by his carnal hunger. His lips are swollen and bitten raw by both himself and Bucky… still they’re open. Static and delicious. His cheeks are flushed brighter than he’s ever seen them- it damn near looks like he’s in heat with the entirety of his face being claimed by that deep, rich blush. His eyebrows are tightened together faintly with the intensity of what he’s feeling. Steve keeps going back to his eyes though. Above all there’s a definite  _ yes  _ staking its claim there. 

No time at all is wasted on his part, he instantly gets to moving the pleasure-drunk, limp omega. Manipulating his body like he weighs nothing. Getting rid of his pants and obscenely tight boxer-briefs first because, god fuck, does he want to be able to smell him even more. He wants to know what his unbridled scent is. He wants everything. His jacket is next to go after he removes his socks when leaning forward to drop his bottoms beyond the shore of the island that is the bed. Dumping them out to sea because if Steve has his way he’s not going to wearing them any fucking time soon. Sooner he’ll black out from exhaustion of pleasing Bucky then he’ll let him put back on those clothes (unless, of course, that’s what he wants). After his jacket is also flung out into the ocean of nothing beyond their sweat sticky bodies his hoodie comes off. Revealing his body to Steve’s eyes for the first time because they’re still laid across each other and so he unfortunately can’ see his legs quite yet. 

Any plan contained within his mind drains out of his ears with his liquified brain. 

He freezes. 

Openly  _ gawking _ up at the omega sitting up in his lap as he lays prone on the bed. His lungs stop working and even his heart stutters to a stop, taking pity on him and allowing for him to consume Bucky as he is completely uninterrupted. His body is still relatively thin but compared to what he must’ve been before it’s _ mind-blowing _ . The omega’s thighs and ass feel like heaven against him, his thighs are chubby, spilling out as they’re folded and making him ache. At some point he is going to  _ have  _ to fuck his thighs. There’s no way he’ll be able to resist. His hips have filled out as has everything else about him but that’s the first thing Steve grabs onto to steady himself. They’re soft, plush really, the perfect amount of fluff for him to dig his fingers into- enabling him to get a good grip on the omega. True  _ love handles.  _ His belly is just as soft, pooching out into the sweetest, most mind-numbing little curve. Steve’s eyes instantly mourn having not been able to stare at that part of him for all of his life… it’s possibly the most alluring thing he’s ever seen. Even his pecs are too good to be true, again Steve’s first thought contains the word  _ soft.  _ He’s so soft and plush and  _ good. He looks so motherfucking good.  _ Steve can’t stand it- he doesn’t feel  _ worthy  _ to touch him. He looks like an angel, a grown up Cherub who God had mercifully allowed to keep their baby-fat. 

“Steve?” Bucky breathes, beginning, in slow motion, to curl in on himself. 

He. Cannot. Have. That. 

He drags him down to be back on top of him a little too roughly if the muffled, “oof” that comes from him is any indicator, but he can’t control himself. He can’t be bothered to think about his strength. Bucky is stretched atop of him, luxurious and ample, all of his skin against all of his clothes and there’s nothing he’s ever felt like the air buzzing around them. He’s not sure if he’s got an oxygen high or if he’s suffocating. The only thing he can do is groan and feel him up more, snarling, _ “‘m gonna eat you alive, Buck. Lookit you-” _

By the time that Steve’s finally down to his boxers and nothing else and Bucky is kneeling over him, looking like he wants to clarify that he really does want him to sit on his face, his knot is nearly fully-blown without having gotten any attention. Nothing can describe the hunger contained in his body, it’s more than an ache, more than a throbbing need, and more than a lust-driven desire. It’s something purely primal and ancient screaming and howling for him to take his omega.

So he does. 

He pulls Bucky down onto his tongue, grabbing a substantial amount of his chubby thighs to do it. Growling as he hears Bucky yelp in surprise and then moan decadently when he nips at his inner thigh playfully. He’s so  _ hot  _ and so  _ wet  _ that it’s almost like he’s melting- like he’s a dessert, creamy and hot in the center. Within seconds his lips already are coated in the slick glazing the valley of his cheeks and thighs from lapping at the rivers pouring from him, however, it does nothing to cool the hurricane of want storming through him. It just builds it stronger within him. So the moment that he’s got Bucky to sit down on top of him and  _ stay _ his hands have to fly to his ass, pulling apart his round cheeks so he can not just flick his tongue over his rim to collect what he can of his slick and lick at his rim but so he can fuck his tongue  _ into _ his cunt. 

The omega screams when he feels his tongue sliding not just around his cunt anymore but inside  his cunt. 

Steve’s vision, behind his shut eyes, explodes with fireworks at his taste, yes, but also at the way he can feel his muscles squirm around the intrusion. Already trying to suck him in and get him to fuck him. To knot him. Rippling and squeezing and working out how to get him to cum the fastest like his body doesn’t know the difference between his lips and tongue and his cock. Steve groans in arousal and agony, his entire body is raw and hot and throbbing like a damaged-nerve. Having his tongue up Bucky’s cunt is nothing short of dizzying and everything he could live off of for the rest of his life but his body also knows how far into space he could go just by putting his cock into him. He restrains though. Gripping on Bucky’s ass harder and hearing him gasp like he’s touched a live-wire, digging his blunt nails in to hear it again, struggling to keep lapping at him and not smirk. 

“Nnngh,” Bucky pants, trembling desperately above him, “St-steve!” He moans, the rest of the sound getting caught up in an incomprehensible sound that doesn’t sound like anything but an expression of ecstasy. 

Steve slides the tip of his finger against his rim, not yet pushing it inside but continuing to slide his tongue messily in and out of his heat, listening to the sugar-coated agony of all the sounds they’re making. Assaulting him. Making his cock twitch and pulse painfully where it’s stuck inside the prison of his underwear. Bucky garbles out some sound that’s so greedy and hungry that whatever sanity was left deep inside his body melts and he just plunges his finger into Bucky. Crooking it in the opposite direction of his tongue so he can have all the room possible to work. 

“ALPHA!” Bucky shouts, little gasps of noises following, high and feminine. Steve growls with everything he has inside himself. Pushing the last inch or so of his finger into his hungry cunt, reveling in the way his muscles contract and ripple around him like silk. Hot,  _ hot,  _ tight silk that’s making him fucking loose his goddamn mind. 

Dropping like a puppet with cut strings at the further intrusion Bucky collapses down onto him; his chest heaving and all of his breaths turning into little expulsions of “ah! Ah! Ah!” His hips rocking messily like he’s not even doing it on purpose, just chasing the friction and stretch impulsively. Not being aware of what he’s doing. How he’s moving. Somehow more heat pulses into his chest and stomach at the desperate, primal display, filling his cock impossibly further and causing it to twitch next to Bucky’s face. Steve’s about to ask if he would like another finger but then Bucky’s shaking hands are clumsily tearing away his boxers and his lips and tongue are acquainting themselves with the scent glands around the base of his cock.    


And then it’s his turn to fall still with overwhelming pleasure, drowning him in the tsunami sized swells of arousal and molten heat. 

The omega writhes above him. Not coping well without having some pleasure administered to him. His internal muscles pulling Steve back into the game with their siren call. He pushes a second finger into Bucky. Spreading them the second he feels him relax around him and fucking his tongue in between them, taking advantage of the gap he’s created. Bucky’s panting speeds up and every exhale he makes has an attached noise, pleasure coming out of him through his mouth in those noises because they’re nowhere else for it to go, every wet breath makes his cock twitch painfully. He’s so hard. There is no way he’s ever been so hard before. Certainly not even when he presented as an alpha with his very first bullheaded rut. They’re both full of it. Steve has never felt anything like what’s pulsing inside him and beating him into a pulp of fucking nothing. 

Then he finds Bucky’s slick glands which, like his prostate, are swollen and sensitive. And Steve is only a man. He can’t resist from caressing them. Stroking the pads of his finger over him as he shuts his mouth for the first time since he got Bucky on top of him, trying and failing to catch his breath. Bucky also fails to catch his breath seeing as he stops breathing. He stops doing everything but shaking, trembling under the attention. 

“Good?” Steve groans, already missing the tiny amount of satisfaction he was getting from Bucky’s breath fanning over his cock and subsequently his tingling knot like a limb. 

Bucky nods his head, turning slightly so his forehead is pressed to his hip instead of his cheek. He’s not sure if he’s started breathing again or not. Even though he hasn’t stopped rubbing the extremely sensitive glands inside of his omega he still has to ask, “too much?” He spares a kiss to his ass cheek. Licking his lips and fighting against his taste buds, which are demanding that he dive back in and suffocate himself against his omega. In response Bucky shrugs and something that sounds like a sob bursts out of him, his voice trembles and breaks as he manages to ask, “wh- whatt? What’re you,  _ ah _ , doing to me?” 

_ Dear fucking god.  _ Steve nips at his rim gently, to quell his screaming hindbrain and to tease him because that wasn’t fucking  _ fair.  _

“Fff-” he stumbles over more words and Steve selfishly doesn’t give him a break, continually rubbing his slick glands, making rivers pour out of him, “feels good. But-” 

“These are your slick glands, baby,” he responds, trying to make it sound like he’s not bothered about it when in fact he’s in the most pleasurable agony  _ ever _ with the knowledge that he’s doing something to his omega that he’s never known about before. Bucky keens in acknowledgement, squirming and pressing his forehead even harder into his hip as his own rock down, trying to get more friction. 

Drool drips down onto his skin from his wrecked omega, making his blood boil right back up to where it was before this little break they’ve been having, well, the break he’s getting. His fingers haven’t stopped moving inside of his omega. His saliva smears over him further when Steve uses the fingers that he doesn’t have inside him to add to the pressure, pinching his ass from the outside and inside, listening to him choke on another moan, “wh’tever the f’ck,” Bucky slurs, “‘s gonna make me cum.” 

Desire plunges through Steve’s chest. Heat curls tight enough to hurt in his stomach. All of the hairs on his body stand up. 

“Yeah, ‘mega,” he breathes against his most intimate skin. Getting back to mouthing at him while thrusting his fingers, keeping the pads of them on his glands. Applying the perfect amount of pressure to make him whimper, rubbing in tiny little circles while he tongue strokes his rim. Just flicking the tip in and out of him in a tease. A tease that’s cutting him to the bone right along with Bucky, making skin sing a song of pure desperation. If he let himself, he could undoubtedly follow him straight over the edge. 

It takes exactly three more flicks of his tongue, two more nips, and countless circles over his slick glands for Bucky to cum. 

He screams through the first couple of seconds, his hips coming alive and smothering him with their width and extra plushness as he presses back as hard as possible as he shakes like a leaf in the wind, attempting to get his fill of pleasure as effectively as possible. Steve’s head spins with the lack of oxygen and the surplus of scents. He whimpers impulsively. Clenching his fingers into him hard enough for them to ache. His skin is fucking pulsing like his body has grown too big for it. He can  _ feel _ the twin sensations of his dick twitching and spilling and his cunt locking around his fingers, gushing out slick as he orgasms. 

Steve blacks out for at least thirty seconds, swimming in darkness, his head getting dunked underwater with the way his conscious crumbles and gives into his feral hindbrain. Allowing for it to take control. For the primal alpha inside him to growl through his teeth and ensure that Bucky is entirely against him while his orgasms ebs, arranging him roughly with his hands. Shutting his eyes tight and bathing in the scent and feel of him, commanding him to worship his omega. Making him submit to the otherworldly creature above him that allowed him to bring him pleasure. The feral alpha contained within him presses them together from tip to tail, craving for him to worship him further but knowing that they also need a rest. Instead his hindbrain has him breathing through his mouth as excess slick drips down his face, from his nose to his top lip, splashing against his tongue heavenly in taste, he’s taking in heavy gasps of moist air like he’s finished a run on a humid day. Thickly breathing and unable to get enough of anything. 

Steve growls and melts into a moan, coming back into himself as the darkest part of his hindbrain retreats, crawling away. 

Leaving him to unclench his fingers from their bruising hold and guide Bucky’s still pliant, shivery body away from his mouth. Placing his hips on his chest instead, his back melting from a beautiful arch to a flat line even while he remains silent and likely unconscious for the moment. Steve himself basks in the gentle high of having pleased the brunette, his orgasm having taken the edge off of his own need for the moment. He’ll need something in a moment but for now, curled up with him, listening to his gentle breathing he’s okay. 

He sighs, the vision of black beneath his shut eyelids now tinted gold with the afterglow. Enjoying the not-as-desperate desperation building back up under his skin in a way that feels like a pleasant tease for now and the thick, sticky feeling of being dirtied up. Under a cloud of his omega’s scent emanating strongly from the slick smeared all over his face that’s slowly beginning to drip down his chin and jaw and claim little creeks down his throat.  _ Hopefully some of it will make it to his scent gland,  _ his hindbrain jumps back in. That way he’d be  _ very  _ effectively scent marked. 

His blood raises back up to a simmer at the thought. 

He wants to smell like Bucky. He wants everyone he comes across to know that this,  _ this,  _ fuckin omega next to him is his. He wants people to wonder if they just finished mating when they smell him because he smells so powerfully of his omega. He wants to live between Bucky’s legs, worshipping his cunt and dick and making sure they smell like each other. 

It’s possessive and archaic of him. But he wants nothing more. 

As if in a dream Steve sloppily moves, letting his body get itself comfortable. Floating on the scent of Bucky’s pleasure and happy pheromones that are curling around his head. Sweeping him up into a current of satisfaction from being a good mate, a good provider.  _ A good alpha. _ Not noticing what his buzzing arms or nearly-numb hands do until one of his hands drags over his own face, nearly startling himself. His own fingers sliding through the mess that Bucky’s made on his face, dragging through the slick glazing him like liquid glass. His brain keeps hurtling along, orbiting the knowledge of what he’s done with Bucky, and not realizing what he’s doing until he’s groaning about the taste he’s sucking off of his own fingers. Laving his tongue all the way to the base of his first two fingers, taking them fully into his mouth and sucking. Not until he’s gathering up the cooling slick on his face and  _ feeding _ it to himself. Hearing the wet, obscene sounds he’s making. 

Then when he has realized what he’s begun doing he also discovers also, that he’s half humping up into exactly nothing but air, his hips pulsing themselves forward as if they’re trying to remind him of his sweet agony. 

He can’t help himself though, he just keeps on doing it. Tensing his abs and pushing his feet into the bed to get some lift, reeling over the fact that it at least makes his cock drag sweetly over his own body. It’s not enough. But it’s something. And he can’t get himself to stop anything that he’s doing anyhow so really he’s just torturing himself. He could just reach down and stroke his slick drenched hand over his cock; he could take care of himself and yet… he licks his lips, finding a stray pool of slick lazing against his bottom lip somehow having either been there the entire time or having slipped down from higher on his face at some point. His lungs demand more air. His chest heaves, mouth opening around his fingertips. Somewhere below him, against his hip to be exact, Bucky purrs a little. His minute shifting growing into something that’s more conscious, less like he’s asleep and having a particularly vivid dream and more like he’s waking up. Steve keeps chasing the primal want to clean himself up while continuing to fight the urge to instead rub Bucky’s slick and cum alike into his skin. He’s pretty sure the only reason he’s not doing the second option instead is because this just happened to be the one his hindbrain wanted to act upon in that moment. His chest heaves again, oxygen and pheromones swelling his lungs, making his head buzz. 

He’s pushed through the sloppily thought out plans been frozen in pursuit of when Bucky spills off of the side of him loosely, getting himself off of his torso and then righting himself so they can see each other once more. 

And in what seems like less than a second Bucky has caught him. 

Steve swallows, his breathing still faster than normal with his arousal and now his embarrassment. His chest grows hot as does his, uhh, dirty face. He goes to open his mouth and say  _ something  _ about what he’s doing, maybe an apology or something but opening his mouth makes him fucking mortified because it makes him realized that his own fingers are still fully enveloped in his mouth. He kind of wants to get up and run away- to get away from his own stupid, primal urges. He kind of also wants to make Bucky do it again, to make him squirt over his face and then demand that he watch him as he cleans his face. 

The war in his head quiets when Bucky whimpers. 

He’s already looking at his omega but the noise makes his eyes focus on him, allowing for him to take in the rapid expansion of his pupils and the drop of his lips. The flush of his cheeks too. 

“Sorry,” Bucky squeaks, sounding just as mortified as he feels, his nose crinkling adorably. 

“Hmm?” Steve rumbles, he honestly doesn’t have words, he’s got no idea what Bucky is sorry for and- 

_ Oh _ . 

“No, uhh,” Steve clears his throat, all his growling has forced his voice deeper and rougher. He pretends he doesn’t notice the way it makes Bucky shiver for his own sake. He needs to keep fucking talking, “no, you-” he gets up onto his elbows, “it’s not your fault… I- that… that’s not what I meant.” He takes a moment to collect himself, starting over. Lifting his head to look at Bucky, “I made you do, uhm,  _ that.”  _

Bucky tilts his head to the side. Shooting closer to him and lifting a leg only to drop it over his lap, righting himself in a motion that has no right to look as graceful as it does. He moves like a big cat on the prowl. He even purrs like a cat, turning his sky question into something of a lustful inquiry meant more to be taken as dirty talk, “I don’t understand? You just… just fingered me- I, uhh, how could that be your fault?” 

Steve’s honestly not fucking sure if Bucky’s playing up his innocence to dig at him or if he’s being serious. Although that question is swept away into the back of his brain when Bucky settles even closer… getting his cunt  _ right  _ over his cock. 

His growl rips out of his throat so fast that it hurts, his now panting breaths do the exact same thing, drying out his aching throat. His body is just one infuro, everything burning and molten, blackened to a crisp by this point so that even just one spark makes all of him go up in monstrous flames. Bucky’s head has fallen back and his own breath is just as ruined. Steve snarls, his eyes locking on the flutter of his pulse pounding away right next to his scent gland, “alphhhhaa-” Bucky drags out his designation. New sweat shimmering over his skin; he’s already fattened up again, his little dick standing up proud. 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, “fuck, fuck.” He buries his still wet face into Bucky’s alluring neck, unable to take anymore. The brunette gasp is so sudden that Steve can feel it cut out from him as he takes in the feeling of his face with  _ his own slick  _ painting it against him. He laps at the extra soft skin covering his most vulnerable gland, drinking in his changing and thickening scent. 

“Steve,” Bucky pants again, rocking back down and calling attention to the underwear he’s still wearing. Tangled up around his legs and cutting into him uncomfortably. 

“Up.” Steve grabs harshly at his padded side, not bothering to even try and disguise his need at this point, “wanna fuck you now,” he groans into the omega’s heady skin. Bucky does as he asks, getting up onto his knees and providing him with enough room to worm out of his boxers, Steve clumsily rids himself of the fabric but he’s then more interested it it, instead he’s touching Bucky’s chest which is now being presented to him on a silver platter. His hands exploring the malleable surface, chasing the areas and types of pressure that have his breath stuttering. Bucky keens, bowing his chest into the heat of his mouth when he licks over his right nipple, shaking with it. Steve faintly hears his back crack as he does it but he pays it no mind when his chest has become perfect little handfuls, filling up his palms, his new weight undoubtedly having made him more sensitive. His shocked cries are enough to tell him that, as is the way he eagerly pushes himself forward to get more of his mouth on him, like he’s not used to this feeling so good. Like he didn’t know it could or would feel like this. It drives him on further daring to suck and drag his teeth over him, hungry for even more of those sounds that clearly are never not going to drive him crazy.

“A’pha,” Bucky cries, his little dick twitching and drooling, “alpha. Please, please, plea-!” 

Bucky cuts himself off with a wailing moan when he tears his mouth away from the soft skin of his nipples and chest, leaving them slightly swollen and more pink. Apparently that's not what he was going for. Steve finds himself smirking anyway, dragging his lower lip over his chest one last time because he can and it makes his whole mouth tingle deliciously. Then he smacks Bucky’s other hip softly, getting his attention before sitting him down again. Forgetting entirely until his cock makes itself at home between his full cheeks what having him sit in his lap entails when they both are completely naked. 

“Whaddya want?” Steve asks as soon as Bucky’s lips are back level with his own, speaking into the omega’s gaping mouth. Feeling his hot, wet breaths dance over his face, catching and brushing over different parts of him when his face is tacky with his slick. Bucky has evidently forgot about that until they truly do kiss again, his humming noise of enjoyment rocketing into a moan as he tastes himself. Bucky doesn’t bother to respond to his question, he just looks him straight in the eyes, sending dark, carnal shivers all the way to his core, and proceeds to nose his jaw up and back. Giving him access to the little rivers of slick that have escaped down his throat. 

“Bu-ck!” Steve’s voice breaks, catching and nearly choking him. God. God- it fucking feels so good. His hot, wet tongue pressing flat over the thin skin of his neck, gathering up his own slick. Agreeing with Steve’s hindbrain about how fucking delicious he tastes, sugary and thick and everything. Two more long, tantalizing strokes of his tongue  _ break  _ him. Making him snap his head down and dive into Bucky’s mouth, taking his mouth over, claiming him and licking into his mouth.  _ Chasing his taste in his mouth _ . Bucky moans, he moans; they moan together. Melding into one thing, all soft edges and bright white pleasure. 

“Wanna fuck you,” he repeats, his words getting swallowed by his omega this time, being taken into his body and kept there. Internalizing his wants, understanding and tasting them.

Bucky pants, pulling back just so their lips only drag against each other in phantom feelings, Steve isn’t sure if they’re close enough together to be real feelings or if his hormone soaked mind is getting the best of him. He grabs for Bucky’s full ass again, not getting enough of it at all, forcing his hips further forward and making his back arch beautifully. His soft chest and belly pressing even harder against him somehow. And just when he’s going to repeat himself again, his mouth open already and his tongue prepared to shape the desire dripping words; then Bucky cups his jaw, tapping his cheek with his fingers and gasping, “this. First.” Shaking his head but dragging his sopping cunt over his cock anyway- pushing them both into the territory of torture rather than pleasure. 

Steve speaks without thinking, focusing in on the feeling of his body against him, grinding into him, instead of whatever the fuck his mouth is doing instead. “Just, guh, fuck. Just got to your slick glands, made- made… made you get even wetter, ‘mega. Massaging those glands makes you spill more, makes, makes- I guess it feels really, real, really good for you too? Made you cum all over me. I made you squirt on me too.” 

“Jesus-” Bucky whines, trading in his rocking for squirming. His cunt just staying directly on his cock the entire time, dripping onto him and making him wetter and wetter and wetter. Steve isn’t sure if Bucky asks him to keep talking if he’ll be able to. The only things behind his teeth now are moans, groans, and growls begging to get out of him. 

Steve’s hips jump up against his own will, his hands clamping down on anyway of Bucky he can reach in order to keep him in his lap, “c’mon, driving me crazy sweetheart, lemme fuck you. I need it.” Thankfully Bucky doesn’t waste any time thinking about it, he just starts nodding hysterically, going limp against him- apparently done with fighting him. 

He slides two of his fingers into the omega easily, his cunt hugging his digits like that’s all that it was meant to do, sucking him in. 

Bucky can’t keep himself or his mouth still. His hands are all over the place, slipping around his body with how much sweat has accumulated over his skin, and his mouth is shutting and then opening right after, overwhelmed with the noises that are streaming out of him. His third finger goes in without a hitch mostly because Bucky bares down on it like that’s all he knows how to. Making all three of his fingers go all the way into his body on the first try, wailing like he’s never felt anything like it. Mouthing at his neck as he falls forward, begging into his sweaty, overheated skin like he needs any type of encouragement. He sure as hell doesn’t need to hear his omega’s voice sounding so wrecked and desperate while he begs for his cock and for his knot. He doesn’t need him acting like he’s in heat when he’s already sitting on the razor edge, unknowing with how he hasn’t cum yet. He might explode the second he’s allowed to climb inside Bucky and make a home for himself there. He might knot him on the spot and not be able to see straight for the rest of his fucking life with how good he knows he’s going to feel inside- the rippling of his internal muscles tell him that now. 

Steve slides his fingers from the clench of his body, mourning the feeling as Bucky echoes his thoughts with a whimper of his own. His chest heaving like he’s suddenly lost a part of himself. But he gets himself to his knees for a second time, giving them a gap between their bodies to arrange things further. 

Although when he slides himself down onto his cock, Steve cradles his knot to ease his descent while his hands bite into his shoulders, steadying himself as well nothing about it is easy. Easy implies it’s not the best fucking thing to ever happen to him, easy implies that it’s not something he’s been waiting his whole life for. Bucky falls silent as he sinks lower, crossing the halfway point, and Steve is so, so fucking glad that they’re face to face to do this because if not he would be worrying and if not he would be missing on the pure rapture overwhelming his omega. His mouth is open like he could be moaning or screaming if he had the air to do it and the rest of his face is claimed by ecstasy. Ecstasy that’s got him tangled in its web too. All he can do is breathe and try his damndest not to cum. Bucky looks like he’s halfway to cumming. He can’t imagine how it must feel for the omega, sliding onto him the way he is, because Steve’s being gutted. His lungs feel too big for his body. His skin feels too tight. His balls feel swollen to the point of pain and he’s sure they, like his cock, are purple. His knot is screaming and weeping at finally being allowed some attention. His vision is growing black around the edges, his omega is squeezing him so tight. His brain is melting because his omega is so hot. 

Bucky’s sobbing then. 

Fat tears rushing down his face as he works his body all the way down onto him, feeling the tease of his nearly fully expanded knot as it pushes into him. Steve’s right there with him, gasping and holding his breath as he fears Bucky’s little cunt won’t be able to fit all of him inside of it. His blood isn’t boiling anymore; his entire body is melted, his muscles and skin and bones- all turned to nothing but melted chocolate that’s merely alive to feel euphoria. Bucky is still sobbing, leaning all of his weight onto him, gasping and choking and then cumming.  _ Again.  _

He’s hyperventilating and crying and squirming and his dick, which feels fucking magical, is spilling between them, the pressure inside his cunt throwing him over the edge that Steve didn’t know he was on. 

His own astonishment is cut short with the sensation of being sliced open and filled with molten lava that replaces everything else going on within him, incinerating everything that’s not pure, unadulterated pleasure. Making him shake as his nerves try all at once to carry every signal possible back to his brain. He can’t process anything, he’s more than overwhelmed. There’s not a word for what he’s feeling. It doesn’t feel possible, he’s feeling too good and too much and it’s too painful. He can feel everything. The pounding of Bucky’s enrapturing cunt around him, squeezing him and begging and crying for him to spill into him- to give it what it’s so direly hungry for. The wetness enveloping him and leaking out around him, soaking his lap like an ocean as his dick adds to the mess. The pounding of Bucky’s pulse where they’re pressed together. The shy dampness of his omega’s erotic tears over his neck and shoulder. Everything. 

It’s so much that Steve can do nothing. Nothing at all. 

Just grit his teeth, shut his eyes and try with every bit of determination he has inside of himself, and some he doesn’t, to not cum. Not yet. 

He’ll get his turn he reminds himself, stroking his sweaty, shaking hands down Bucky’s spine.  _ He’ll get his.  _ He will. He’s pleasing Bucky first. He’s making sure he’s getting his fill first- he wants him to get his fill first, he does. He really, really does. He wants to show Bucky on every level that he’s a good mate.  _ A good alpha.  _

Bucky’s sobs fade to sniffles, his sniffles to gasps and- well. Steve doesn’t blame him for not being able to breathe normally while sitting on his cock. 

“O-okay?” He asks, trying to control him, petting back the thick strands falling out of his destroyed hairdo. He nods, his mouth still hanging open and his chest still heaving, his eyes still clouded over, but- he nods. Steve believes him, he does look okay, surprisingly so, considering how he’s just cum twice in such a short amount of time. Besides it’s not like he can do any critical thinking with his pulse jumping and beating through his cock, not when Bucky still is tighter and hotter than sin as his body tries to hold onto his cock, trying to trick him into knotting him, to getting them to be tied together. 

“Like… how, how, uhh, good though?” Steve finds himself panting, squirming around as little as possible while Bucky moves atop him, his arms raising above his head and his chest and belly pushing forward with the gorgeous curve of his back. Unintentionally or intentionally presenting his mouthwatering body to his starved eyes as his deft fingers undo and then shake out his hair. The only indication of Bucky’s sensitivity is his quick sigh that’s nearly a gasp as he shakes his head, the chocolate waves of his hair tumbling down. Steve’s skin crawls with the urge to touch. His hands twitch where they’re parked on his shapely hips, his nails biting into the soft give of them. Bucky leans forward, shy but with intention, and Steve finds himself falling dizzy under his beauty. His lips are less shy and more sloppy against his. 

Dark, unsatisfied desire bubbles up from the cage of his ribs, ripping out of him with a broken growl. The energy also pilots his useless hands, making them prowl up from Bucky’s hips to his hair, tugging the silky strands and making his head tilt back so he can get at his neck. Bucky moans like he hasn’t just cum twice. Steve’s dick is on fucking  _ fire  _ inside of his body, throbbing and twitching and aching like nothing he’s experienced before. He doesn’t know what the hell to fucking do. Everything feels  _ so good  _ but it’s  _ not enough.  _ Those words,  _ not enough, _ are circling his mind and blotting out his own groans and rumbles. Only letting Bucky’s high pitched keens and gasps through his ears, making his situation even fucking worse. 

Steve stops devouring Bucky only when the omega’s nails drag down his chest, marking him up with pink trails, the color settling in underneath his skin with the pleasant sting. His cock twitches again and  _ feels  _ the pounding rush of even more blood surging lower down. He whimpers faintly- there’s no way he can get harder.  _ There’s no way. He might actually explode with his arousal. _ It’s too much. It’s too much. It’s so much. It’s-

“Good enough for you to fuck me,” Bucky roughly purrs, getting his own hands in his hair. Swooping his fingers back from his hairline and breathing in his space, just existing in his space. “You’re gonna have to do all of the work though, alpha.”    


Steve doesn’t even blink this time before they’re in a new position, it’s just a blur separating their first position - Bucky in his lap, taking his cock like he was meant to do nothing more - and the second. Somehow without taking his cock fully out of his omega’s cunt he’s gotten him face down on the bed, his substantial ass curved up in the most appetizing invitation Steve has ever seen and could ever imagine, his thighs spread enough to give him an eyeful but not enough to make his abused dick brush the bedsheets. Steve’s own moan gets ripped into a growl by his hunger when Bucky flutters around him, slick leaking slowly from his entrance as he waits for Steve to get to it. The new slick gets lost amongst the rest glazing his skin, making him look like he’s been dipped in liquid glass. Shimmering and temping. Steve wants to devour him. He wants to sink his teeth into him and take a bite. 

He drives his hips forward, moaning heartily at the resounding slap of their bodies. His own hip bones striking his plush ass, the contrast between his own hard body and his omega’s luscious one making his head spin. He watches with wide eyes as Bucky’s ass and thighs quake, taking the force beautifully. His hands dig harder into his hips. Bringing his own hips back and slamming them forward at the same moment that he pulls Bucky down against him. 

The fucking sound that his omega makes as he strikes his prostate has him trembling in his skin and wanting to howl, tempting the deepest most beast-like parts of him, it’s desperate and animal and it sounds like it was fucked straight out of him. Like his cock is filling him up so fucking much that he can’t even keep his sounds in. Like there’s no room inside of him. And,  _ god,  _ does he feel fucking devine inside. Tight, hot, wet, and silky. Normally he’d at least attempt to not sound so feral, he’d try and talk to him as he fucks him but he  _ can’t. _ All he can do is growl and groan and grunt as he plows forward, he can’t help it. Bucky is ridiculously tight, tight like his body might not accept him and every pull out is a gamble because his drooling cunt might not let him back in. He can’t bare to think about how tight he’s going to feel when he knots him or he’s going to just fucking cum instantaneously. There’s already an exorbitant amount of pleasure circulating through him, slicing him into nothing but bits of lust. His cunt is so, so scorching hot, it’s stoking the fire that’s taking over his body. Making sweat slide down his back and drip off of his temple, beading in his hair. Every inch of him is soaked with sweat, his or Bucky’s, and he’s not honestly sure whether or not he’s not just melting. Coming apart at the seams. He feels so good inside that he might be having a psychotic break. His omega feels like heaven and he’s not sure if it can be real. He might be going crazy. There’s no way anything is allowed to feel so heavenly and so sinfully fucking good- no way!

The only thing that he can’t be making up if he is just trapped in a hellishly good rut-dream is just how much all of his sounds sound like him, like  _ Bucky,  _ he’s yowling and screaming and sobbing as Steve fucks wildly into him and all of them are high and feminine,  _ yes _ , but he sounds like  _ himself _ somehow. The raw and wild and free version of his omega. But it’s his omega. He sounds like himself and it’s fucking making him insane and forcing him to accept the reality of everything wrecking him. 

He’s not sure that his knot isn’t just fully expanded already and his balls are trying to catch up, trying to empty him of his overfull, swollen agony with release. He can’t stop though. He can’t control any part of him. His knot feels like it’s pulsing and swelling all over again and he wants to  _ sob  _ with it, it fucking  _ hurts  _ so bad but it also feels indescribably  _ good. _ All he can do is hope the primal noises escaping him can be turned into something of use for his body or for Bucky. He’s drowning in ecstasy. He’s hit the ceiling of how good something can feel surely- his body can’t take anymore. He’ll combust. He’ll explode. He’ll-

His hindbrain has him shoving into Bucky like he weighs a ton. His slick drenched cunt feels like a balm on a bone-deep cut, and all of the sudden he can’t fucking breath. It’s like dumping hydrogen peroxide onto a wound- it throbs and hurts but when it’s gone all that’s left is contentment and satisfaction with knowing you’ve done all.   


Steve doesn’t can’t describe the sound that exits his gaped lips because his ears are ringing. But he knows from the razorblades carving into his throat that it was loud and animal. His vision isn’t black with technicolor fireworks- it’s white. Pure white. His body is folding in on itself; being crushed under the seer weight of pleasure and satisfaction wrecking him. It’s like a building has fallen on top of him. He can’t do anything but let his body be crushed and ruined- crumbling under it all. Trembling and breaking, stuffing coming out of his seams, as his cock locks into Bucky’s unbearably tight cunt. He can’t breathe. 

His eyes water and he gasps soundlessly as his gut is sliced open with pure heat, emptying himself into his omega. Pumping him full. He could  _ cry _ as his cock throbs and his muscles contract, making his knot expand the last millimeter as the last of the first wave of his release goes. 

The pressure added around his own cock makes his eyes roll back into his skull, he’s not sure if he’s been able to keep himself from crushing Bucky thus far because of an actual miracle but surely, surely, when he cums into him he collapses further. He can’t feel his toes or fingers. All he knows is the agonizing, pleasurable satisfaction of breeding up his omega. 

His vision grays out from black to white.   


“Hnng- ah! Ah!” Bucky’s sharp, high noises greet him from the abyss that he’s fallen into - cloudy and dark - as does mind-numbing pressure. Pressure that’s hot and wet and  _ tight.  _ Steve blinks without registering his surroundings, barely seeing anything but black separated by a flash of dim light. 

His eyelids flutter again, bringing him closer to the surface. 

His knot is still blown, still locked inside his little omega’s little cunt. His cock aches. Reminiscent of the sharp tingle when your circulation is cut off but not cut off enough to make the limb go numb. _ Fuck.  _ Those are just the  _ facts.  _ He’s locked inside of his omega still, yeah, but knowing that doesn’t change the oncoming, overwhelming feelings that are too good to try and encapsulate. 

“‘Mega,” Steve groans, another wave of cum getting forced from his balls as he comes back into the real world, “sh-shit,” he curses and finds himself panting uselessly, silently. His mouth is dry as a desert against the sweet smell of Bucky’s overheated shoulder. His weight is most certainly crushing Bucky into the bed but his muscles aren’t apologizing for it, he can’t move, both of their bodies are free of tension anyway- excluding Bucky’s shivering cunt. Wrung out and overwhelmed. “Buck,” Steve tries again, feeling like all of his blood has been drained from his body making him slow and lazy. His vision goes fuzzy and dark with the sudden onslaught of pleasure that’s dragged him from his early grave, it’s amplified only by his weak attempt to lift his head, “fff-fuck, how, how’re you doin’? Anything… hurtin’?” 

Bucky just keens, slurring horribly, _ “full, a’pha.” _

A chuckle creeps up his raw throat, “mmm hmm,” he agrees, smothering his face into his omega. He smells devine. Like an impossibly sugary dessert. Impulsively his lips meet his skin- salty and warm and soft and  _ Bucky.  _ Bucky squirms under his lips, delighted, more little sounds like the ones that brought him back down to earth happen, little keens and exhalations of breath that are sharp and sweet. Making his ears all but literally perk up. Had he been looking in a mirror he’s sure he would’ve been able to watch the rapid expansion of his pupils outward. His omega…  _ so _ sweet. 

Steve lets his jaw fall open with the intent to say  _ something  _ but then Bucky’s noises are turning into sounds that are more words than random sounds of bitten off pleasure so he quits, those noises strike him straight in the chest with hot, buzzing, deep cuts of lightning. Dark and arousing. “A’pha, a-alpha. Nuh- guh… Steve,” his voice is breathy and hot, erratic like even he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, making his cock jerk weakly inside of him. Finally he’s stopped cumming. The last pulses leaving him, packing his cunt, and making him feel strung out, satisfied with having finally gotten to get inside of his omega, having made him-

_ “Oh _ , Buck,” Steve recognizes the desperation in his omega that he thought had been shock until just then, his voice coming out not as a complete growl for the first time all night, “what am I gonna do with you, huh?” He teases just because he can, smirking and debating if Bucky is too strung out to deal with a play-bite to his scent gland. He decides against it, calling on anything left inside of himself to do fucking something instead- he doesn’t even need to get up off of him, he just- he’s gotta… He could get a hand on him or something. He should. Now that he’s realized that his omega isn’t just squirming on his knot because he’s so packed full and bewildered by it, it’s glaring obvious; his arousal that is. His scent has ramped back up to it’s lushest state, all-encompassing and rich, tangling up inside his lungs, making his mouth water. It’s not as strong as it had been but… well. Anyone who wouldn’t be panting and drooling at it is a little more than a little crazy. Besides it’s not like his hunger for his omega can be satiated anyway. 

“What am I gonna do with you,” he repeats, darker, buying himself time as Bucky gasps and wriggles under him, impatient, “already had you cummin’ for me  _ twice  _ sweetheart, now you want it  _ again?” _

Bucky whines- high, thin, and long. Undeniably hungry. 

“Shhhhh,” Steve hushes the sound into his sweaty hair, repositioning them carefully as to not pull too hard on their lock. He doesn’t want to hurt Bucky. Never. He grabs for Bucky’s hip and slides his hand all the way over the fantastic curve of it, getting his forearm braced across the very lowest part of his tummy. Nearly wheezing when he feels the  _ mess  _ on his soft stomach. Omega’s cum isn’t as viscous as alpha’s, there also isn’t as much of it but that just has his thighs tensing and his hips tipping forward with the impulse to hump into Bucky, feeling how much cum is painting his stomach and the bedspread. He’s so good. Cumming so hard for him. 

He tries to ignore the impulse to the best of his ability but the lazy moan that spills out of Bucky’s plush lips tells him that he’s not the most successful with that plan. 

Still- he gets them rolled over safely.

Bucky’s back resting against his chest, his ass thickly pressed to his pelvis, his legs having fallen wide, spread out beyond his own legs, his head tipped to the side and his chin tipped up so he can see his alpha. Steve can’t resist growling into the fucked-out kiss that Bucky requests with a longing look and hurt noise. They’re quite a fucking mess. 

“Talk to me, omega,” Steve requests, whispering, licking messily over his hot, swollen lower lip. Bucky turns his head to the other side so they’re facing away, rolling his neck, and then doing it again, turning his head as if he can’t quiet make up his own mind. Just moving on instinct. His fingers pinch some of the achingly sexy chub at his side, “c’mon, know you can.” Bucky whines his argument, shying away from hand but stopping to heave in a couple of lungfuls of air when his squirming pulls on his knot. Steve isn’t better off, the rising and falling of his own chest jostling Bucky a little, waves of fire lapping at his knot. 

Bucky blows out the most steady breath that he can, barely even whispering, “feels good, al-Steve.” His cheeks heat with an adorably intense blush at his near-slip. Steve kisses his cheek chastly, humming to spur him on. Bucky leans languidly into his touch, “feels… ‘s a lot.” 

Bucky’s skin is soft under his hands so he lets them explore, not paying attention to where they’re going unless listening for the catches and hitches in his omega’s breathing counts, taking in his quiet words instead, “yeah,” he rumbles, dragging out the word. “Bet you’re feeling a lot, huh? Having that pretty cunt stretched so wide-” the brunette rolls his head incomprehensibly again, crying out, “yeah, yeah.” He goads him on, not paying attention to the words falling out of his own mouth, just letting the sparks inside of him ignite into a fire that grows into an uncontrollable inferno the longer that he speaks, “bet it feels real good, huh, sweetheart? Getting that cunt filled full a’ me. Probably hurts a little too- can feel you shaking with it, honey. Oh, poor baby. Must not be used to having so much cum inside a’ you. Not used to having me inside you yet, stretching out your cunt.” One of Steve’s hands has slid back to his entrance, circling his fingertip over the hot, puffy, overworked muscle, “this little cunt-” Bucky wails up at the ceiling of the bedroom, clenching tighter on him and turning his brain to mush. His words to groans, “can barely fit inside this little cunt, probably has you feeling like you’re coming apart at the seams, yeah?” 

Bucky shocks him by nodding frantically and gasping airily, _“yes! Yes! Alpha!”_

Steve rubs at his rim and his nipple, pinching the sensitive skin of his chest and listening to his beautiful song of agony, trapped between the two sensations. “Well, hope you can get used to me. My knot. ‘Cause  _ this,”  _ he taps his rim, playing up the wet sound it makes by going quiet, “this little cunt is the perfect place for me. Squeezing me tight,  _ god,”  _ his voice turns uncontrollably guttural, “feels like you're tryin’ to milk me even though you already got all a’ me in here,” Steve doesn’t know when his other hand moved from his cunt to his tummy but it has. He taps his stomach, massaging his own cum into his skin even though it’s nearly completely dried by or wiped off by now, “packing you full. Breeding you up-” the only reason he notices his slip is because Bucky arches his back painfully and starts gasping like he’s breathing through a straw. 

“Oh, hoo,” Steve smirks, his own belly growing hot and tight, “yeah? That how it is, ‘mega?” Bucky moans, trying to push himself back against his knot in vain, “yeah. Lookit you,” Steve grabs his stomach, getting ahold of his chub, “you’d be such a fucking good home for my pup. Keep ‘em nice and safe for us, right baby?” He rubs his belly as his other hand still plucking at his nipple, rubbing it between two fingertips and feeling the tissue grow hot under the attention, “get even bigger for me then, yeah?” Steve nearly winces, he didn’t mean to just  _ say  _ that like  _ that-  _

But Bucky has returned to choking on his own spit. 

A sob cutting out of him so loudly that it deafens him for a moment, hot enough in it’s undeniable desire that it makes his cheeks, neck, chest, and ears flush. Arousal burrows into his chest, striking him hard enough to make him vibrate with it. There’s no way he’ll be able to knot Bucky again so soon outside rut but he can feel himself continuing to stay hard rather than soften inside Bucky. Keeping his knot inflated for longer than usual. And well. He’s already gotten one foot in his mouth and it went well so…

He fucks his hips up as gently as he can, knowing the head of his cock strikes Bucky’s swollen prostate when his moans keep sliding into his sobs, “you’re so good. Such a good omega.” Bucky whimpers, his luxurious thighs squeezing together against the assault of pleasure, “you’d be so good for me, carrying my pups- letting me fill you full a’ my cum. Claiming you and making you round out for me. Getting heavy and pretty,” Steve can feel himself slipping out of what could be considered causal breed kink territory and into whatever-the-fuck-weird-but-related kink he has. He can’t stop himself though. He doesn’t stand a chance of stopping. Not when his omega is writhing above him, trembling and pushing his chest and belly forward into his touch when he has shying away earlier. Not when his hips are pressing painfully tight to his, making sure every inch of his cock is inside of him. 

“You’d look so good,” Steve growls, “growing big and round for me.” His fingers go rogue, pinching his hip and then groping the curve of his belly, circling his nipple with the other hand, “filling out more with some  _ baby weight _ .” Bucky wails, the excess saliva keeping his lips unreasonably alluring with their shine dribbling over onto his skin. Strings of it connect his gaped top and bottom lip as hysterical sounds punch their way out- each fighting for its own room in his lungs. A full body shiver chops Steve down to only his carnal lust, he can’t fucking think past the aching throb of his abused knot, “wanna watch you get bigger and bigger for me, putting on all the baby weight that you can, wanna watch you round out, pretty baby. Full a’ me and claimed.  _ Mine.” _ He pants into Bucky’s temple, losing himself entirely in blind desire, “gonna watch your chest and your hips and ass and thighs and belly get bigger for me. Gonna keep you full a’ my cum even when you're taking care a’ my pup with this perfect body you got here.” It doesn’t feel like he’s doing much but dirty talking his omega to an early grave and squeezing at all of his extra fluff but apparently it’s doing enough for him because there’s a lake of slick collected on his lap - having leaked out from around his knot - beneath Bucky’s full ass and he’s doing nothing but restlessly squirming. Making half-conscious, delicious noises that make no fucking sense. 

“Gonna hand feed you pretty, make sure you’re getting enough. Getting taken care of,” Bucky makes the same shrill noise he had when he was about to cum the first two times, his internal muscles rippling and trying in vain to pull him closer. Steve mouths over the alluring curve of his throat, growling more than speaking. Ravenous for the evidence of his enjoyment, “can’t wait to see you heavy like that, ‘mega, can’t fucking wait. You’re gonna have to have your alpha’s help with so much, y’know, carrying so much around. Being so big an’ heavy. Round and curvy.” Bucky wails, his breaths shallow and sharp, his lips trembling, head rolling back and forth on his chest. Restless. “Soft and pretty for me.” He whispers, Bucky sobs. Literal tears finding their way out from under his shut eyelids, Steve palms his hot,  _ hot,  _ little dick that’s not even a handful for him. Rumbling out, “would love for there to be more of you. Wanna watch you get soft because I'm taking care of you. Feeding you and giving you all the fucking pups we can get into this sweet cunt you've got here.”

Bucky doesn’t scream this time. 

His lips stop trembling but his jaw stays locked open wide. His eyes stay squeezed shut. His muscles stop moving and tensing. Letting Steve hump forward into him with as much as possible with the little wiggle room. The heaving of his chest even pauses while his pretty little dick twitches and spills over Steve. His watery, sweet smelling cum splashing over his fingers and palm. 

The explosion of his peak is over just as soon as it’s begun.  _ Short and sweet… just like my omega,  _ Steve thinks with a drowsy smile. Stripping Bucky’s handful of a dick a few more times before his barely-there whimpers of enjoyment turn to whines of too-much, too-soon. 

As the wet heat of the brunette’s release settles onto his still hand, the heat inside of Steve uncurls- burning itself out.

“Love you,” Steve murmurs, finally falling into his exhaustion now that Bucky has truly been satisfied. Unmoving atop of him, knocked out by the force of his orgasm, “gonna take care a’ you,” he tells his omega, rumbling contentedly as he slides into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope that this was worth waiting for! Lemme know your thoughts if you wouldn't mind!!
> 
> Tumblr: https://fandomfluffandfuck.tumblr.com/


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